


RWBY Prompts

by Patcho418



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Atlas arc, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 30,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Patcho418/pseuds/Patcho418
Summary: So I guess I'm putting all my RWBY Tumblr written prompts here! Feel free to send me some, and of course feedback is always welcome! These will range from angsty to fluffy to downright goofy with some canon-compliant and canon-divergent and AU stuff so just enjoy the ride I guess!
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long, Pyrrha Nikos/Weiss Schnee
Comments: 97
Kudos: 233





	1. something broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing): "What if I don't get better? What if I am broken?"
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

No matter what Ruby does, she can’t use her silver eye powers.

It’s been several weeks now since Cinder and Neo attacked her. Several weeks since her aura fizzled and shattered under their relentless attacks and the searing pain of a blade split up through her eye. Several weeks since she woke up in an Atlas hospital, Blake watching worried from behind Yang as her sister sobbed softly into her hands, and Weiss’ expression contorted between furious and relived and anxious.

Now, she stands in the tundra surrounding Atlas, her team’s weapons raised and firing upon the Grimm they’ve drawn as she stands uselessly behind them, the cold wind biting at her barely recovered aura.

She lifts a tentative finger to her eye–the one that’s not concealed by an eyepatch, the one that’s still there–and wipes away the tear forming in the corner, wishing that argent instead spilled from it rather than this.

She’s tried it all: she’s thought of life, like Maria had told her, and the drive to protect it. She’s pictured the delight of seeing Penny alive in Mantle, marvelous and resplendent against the shattered moon and the specked northern sky. She’s pictured the looks of joy on her friends’ faces upon being given their licences by Ironwood, stretching grins and gleeful bouncing. She’s pictured the smug delight on Weiss’ face as she watched her father lose the council election so spectacularly, and the sheer bliss her sister showed when Blake and her kissed for the first time.

It should be enough, and there’s something that stops it from being enough. It feels like a wall is between her thoughts and her eye, like she can’t picture what she wants to well enough. Or maybe it’s between her thoughts and her heart, and whenever she wants to feel love and joy and happiness she only feels familiar blackness choking it out, blocking it from her chest and corrupting her thoughts with dispassion.

One final shot from Ember Celica rings out against the sharp tundra weather, and when its sound faded from her ears the rest of her team turns to her. Ruby almost can’t stand the expressions they wear, but she knows their concern is genuine.

Blake frowns sadly as she sheathes her weapon. “So, did it work?” she asks, and they all know the answer but someone has to break the unease.

Ruby shakes her head. “I just can’t do it, guys. I’m sorry.”

“Ruby, you have nothing to be sorry about,” Yang says firmly, though her tone somehow remains gentle. “You’ll get it eventually, you just need time to heal.”

“I don’t have time to heal, Yang!” Ruby grumbles. She curls her fingers into her palms and takes a heavy step forward. “Cinder and Neo are still out there, and Salem could attack Atlas any day now, and I’m supposed to just wait until this–” she emphasizes her statement by pointing at her missing eye, “–gets magically better?”

Weiss steps forward to meet her, hands raised carefully in front of her. “I’m sure that’s not what Yang meant–”

“Why don’t you try having the weight of the world on your shoulders?”

There’s an immediate stillness around them, as if the life of the tundra suddenly stops and the winds cease their howling. Even the patches of fog from her teammates’ stunned breaths seem to hesitate the moment they pass their lips, and her own tears freeze to her skin like ice sealing her eyelids together.

The weight of her own words hit her instantly like a blow to the chest, and she collapses under that weight in tears broken by harsh sniffles and desperate hisses for air. 

Immediately, Yang is kneeling in front of her, cradling her as she softly hushes her and skates her thumbs along her arms. Ruby’s not a kid anymore, but even now against the frigid ground and shattering from the impact of her own voice, of such severe words coming from her own mouth, she falls into her sister’s hold and lets herself be small.

Blake and Weiss soon circle and kneel around her, too, Blake quietly watching with a sympathetic and understanding look in her eyes and Weiss running her fingers through Ruby’s hair.

Finally, she manages to speak through her sniffles. “What if I don’t get better?” She lifts her head for a moment to meet her sister’s eyes, and the look she’s given makes her heart clench, makes her tear up even more as anxiety settles in her chest. “What if I am broken?”

Yang holds her shoulder in her metal palm and gives her a reassuring squeeze; she can feel the cold steel through the fabric of her cloak, and against the heat of her panic it’s comforting to know she’s not alone.

“You’re not broken,” Yang tells her confidently, holding back her own tears. “You will get better.”

“How do you know?”

Weiss rests her hand against the back of Ruby’s head, and she sinks into her soft touch. “We’ll help you get better. Whatever we can do, we’ll do it.”

There’s another hand on her shoulder, and she looks to Blake who’s moved to Yang’s side. She mimics the gentle circuit of Yang’s thumb on her shoulder and offers her a kind smile. “We promise,” she says.

Ruby nods, and she cracks a sheepish but sincere smirk, and when the tears come back to her eye she lets herself be held by her family.


	2. Hungry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing): "Hungry?" Part 1 of 2 of a very random roadtrip AU my brain concocted for these next two prompts.
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

‘The Dusty Diner’.

Blake thinks the name is entirely fitting.

The moment they pull up to the little restaurant on the side of the highway, Blake’s nose crinkles in disgust at the potent odour of grease, grease, and–surprise, surprise–more grease. Frankly, after the multiple McDonald’s and Burger King’s and that one mistake of going to Taco Bell, she’s about ready for some actual food.

Today’s just not her day, it seems.

Yang turns the ignition off and sighs as she turns to the diner. “Yup. I’m already disgusted.”

“Yang!” Weiss chirps.

“What? Look at this place!” she shoots back.

Weiss rolls her eyes. “Well, yes, it’s a dump. But that’s rude!”

Before their banter has a chance to continue, there’s a raucous growling from the back seat beside Weiss, and the three girls turn to Ruby, who by this point has somehow managed to get through her whole first snack bag and is about as green as she can get, cheeks bloated and eyes drooping.

“Told you not to eat so much,” Weiss chides.

“Ugh, Weiss! Give me a break!” Ruby groans against her stomachache. Her eyes dart to the diner and suddenly any pallor she may have retained throughout this first stretch of today’s trip is gone. She lulls her head back over the headrest and groans again. “You couldn’t have picked a better pitstop, sis?”

“Hey, don’t get after me! Jaune and them wanted to go here!”

“Because Nora says they have the best pancakes,” Blake adds as flatly as she can without making her own disgust too apparent.

Ruby murmurs something–probably an admission of defeat–and curls in on herself. Yang sighs and slots the keys out of the ignition before tossing them into her backpack. 

Blake looks outside the window again at their awaiting fate; Jaune’s car hasn’t pulled up, yet, but they shouldn’t be far behind. She loathes the fact that _they’re_ going to have to be the ones to go in and grab a table big enough for eight (seven, if Ruby submits to her sickness and stays in the car).

As if catching Blake in her disdainful thought, Yang leans back and turns her head to her; her eyes hold a similar dread as she grimaces. “Hungry?”


	3. Hold Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr PatchoDraws: "Hold me, please?"
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

To Weiss, the night sky is a crisp, inky canvas against which brilliant flecks of white break the monotony. From far below, she can spot tiny movements between them–satellites, she thinks, or maybe distant comets–and trace the vague outlines of far-off nebulae she’ll never truly be able to see fully. 

It brings with it a calm, a serenity, one that she’s still barely used to. Back home, the skies were bitter and solid, frozen over like an icy lake, closing her in in her equally icy mansion. Even now she can still feel a chill creep up her spine and under her skin, causing the hairs on her arms to rise. Maybe the night’s cold, she reckons, and it’s only that that chills her.

She turns around to see her friends moving their bags from the cars into the motel; it’s certainly nicer than the last one they stayed in, she has to admit, though given how Jaune, Ren, Nora, and Ruby had to evacuate their room thanks to a mouse in the bathroom, it’s hardly a competition.

Her bag dangles from her curled fingers and gently bumps against her calf. Weiss wanted to use this trip as an escape, a chance to get away with the people she holds most dear, to spend time with the woman she loves and cherishes with her whole heart, to be able to finally have a moment of respite from the endless torment her father throws her way. No matter where they end up, though, there’s always that chill in her body, that wintery bite that reminds her she can’t keep running forever. It won’t be long before this trip ends, as much as she hates to think about it ever ending, and she’ll be back at home waiting for her father to cuss her out for something he’s angry about that hardly involves her.

She stifles a sob at the back of her throat; the night sky is so beautiful, and she just wants to take it in as it is, forget that it could ever be oppressive and bleak and cold.

Of course, her muffled sob probably doesn’t go completely unnoticed, and worried that maybe she’s attracted the attention of her friends, she inhales a heavy but relieving breath and turns to check on them. 

Yang and Blake have already made it inside their room, and Yang has very quickly taken to checking the bed for ‘buoyancy’ (”It’s not for what you think!” Yang swore in the last motel room, and Weiss was foolish enough to believe her the first time.) Ruby is helping Jaune with his third bag and groaning about why he brought so many without realising the irony that is her snack bags, Ren and Nora are checking their shared room for any rodent-shaped problems, and Pyrrha?

Pyrrha’s making her way to Weiss with a gentle smile on her lips. Weiss straightens her back and her jaw sets; she knows she doesn’t have to put on such a prim mask around her, but old habits die hard, after all.

“We’re in luck,” Pyrrha says in a low voice. “Yang says the bed is ‘completely unsuitable’.”

Weiss lets out a mix of a relieved sigh and an airy giggle, a quick moment of truth behind the mask she’s instinctively put up. “Well that is a relief.”

Pyrrha’s lips purse slightly, and her eyes trail down to her bag before meeting Weiss’ again. “Are you okay, love?”

The first crack. 

Weiss smiles a porcelain smile. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you just seem a little…forlorn.” Pyrrha takes a step forward and reaches up to hold Weiss’ shoulder; sometimes Weiss forgets, looking at her delicate fingers, how firm Pyrrha’s hands are. 

The second crack.

She lays into her touch a little, feeling her soft skin against her bare shoulder, feels how the muscles of her palm push against the thick layer she’s put above her skin. 

Weiss tries to inhale but feels it catch in her nose, locked in her chest as if keeping her words from spilling. She can have a good time, she tells herself. She can enjoy the rest of the time they have together without having to think about endings and homecomings and a life she’s grown tired of finding momentary escapes for.

Pyrrha’s hand finds it’s way carefully, hesitantly, to her check. Her thumb gently glides along the pink scar splitting her skin, a spot it’s rested countless times before as the pads of her fingers sink against her cheekbone. “I know we haven’t been doing this for long, love,” she begins whispering closely as her eyes keep Weiss’ in, “but I want you to feel like you can talk to me. Please.”

“I–” Weiss stammers, caught between the gentle stroke of her thumb and the calm sincerity of her tone and she can feel the layer of frost that’s settled against her splitting, cracking further, and she wonders how it could be that she can turn so fragile from it.

The final crack.

A tear spills from her eye, falling down her scar and against Pyrrha’s thumb; Pyrrha is quick to wipe it clear from her face, and holds onto her more closely, her grip sealing the parts of her that threaten to fall away with the ice now peeling from her skin.

Soon, another. And another. And with every tear, her mask–her persona of perfection and control–falls away, too, until she can do nothing but yearn for comfort and stability. She dives headfirst into Pyrrha, her face wet against her shirt, and muffles her sobs against her own arm. Pyrrha wastes no time in securing Weiss against her, wrapping her in a tight embrace that keeps Weiss close, keeps her safe, keeps her ear against her chest as she anchors herself to her heartbeat and thinks it’s the only thing keeping her far from home.

Somehow, through her sobs and tears and light coughs, Weiss manages: “I don’t want this to end, Pyrrha. I don’t want to go back.”

Pyrrha rests her chin against the top of Weiss’ head and hums; it’s neither thoughtful nor pleasant, but melancholic. Weiss knows that what she wants isn’t going to come true, not this time. Pyrrha knows, too.

“What can I do for you?” she asks. 

Weiss would ask her to rescue her, for starters, and take her away from that life she loathes so harshly. She’d ask her to run away with her, one final escape to some unknown country where they can be together far from where her father can find her. She’d ask her to marry her, to spend every night in the same bad and kiss her when the night skies shimmer, soothing waves of black dotted with specks of white that she has grown so very fond of.

“Hold me. Please.” It’s all she can ask of her right now.

Pyrrha nods and continues to cradle Weiss as she cries against her.


	4. Fuck!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yang feels pretty bad about nearly getting her and Ruby killed by Grimm, and decides to put what she learned from Qrow to good use.
> 
> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws!](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing) Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

_Fuck._

Yang fell hard against her mattress, barely sinking into the sheets before bouncing back up. The sunflower yellow of her covers normally made her feel a lot more comfortable, a lot more safe, a lot more happy.

She could be anything but happy after today.

_Fuck._

It was exactly what Uncle Qrow had said after rescuing her and Ruby from the Grimm in that dark forest, and it wasn’t the first time he’d said it in front of them either. And she wasn’t dumb, either. She knew exactly what it meant. 

That’s why she found it so easy to growl it into her pillow, holding back frustrated tears with simmering growls.

Being angry was almost second nature to Yang. Dad always told her how she needed to control her temper, and she always thought she did a pretty good job at that part, but it was when she felt angry that she couldn’t control.

Sometimes, she didn’t know who to get angry at. When Dad would tell her off for something she’d done, or when he wasn’t letting her play outside with Ruby, she’d get mad. When Ruby would take her toys, break her toys, go missing while she was trying to babysit her, she’d get mad. When Qrow treated her like some dumb kid who hadn’t had to take care of her sister almost all the time, when he saw her as not worth his time and attention, she’d get mad.

And when she wanted to know what was so wrong with her that her own mother would leave her without a trace to find her, she got mad. At her mom? A little bit. At herself? A lot.

How could she be so stupid to believe that her own mother even wanted her? She had left her, and Yang was dumb enough to think that maybe she could find her, race into her arms and hold onto her as tight as she could so that they’d never be separated again.

Searching in the woods had been the first step, and it would be the last in a long time. Had it not been for Qrow, her and Ruby would have both died. Had it not been for her own dumb dreams, they’d have both died.

They could have died.

“Fuck!” This time, it came out as a wet, tear-filled scream as she turned over onto her back and fired the word at her ceiling, hoping it would come crashing down on top of her.

The feeling passed quickly, and she was left feeling fire in her eyes and pressure in her jaw that made the tears resume. She soon devolved into hiccuping sobs that felt like being hit in the gut, choking and abrupt and she had to cling to her covers just to keep herself from screaming again.

Her bedroom door creaked open, and while she didn’t notice immediately, the parrot-like echo of her anguish certainly caught her attention.

“Fuck!”

Yang inhaled shakily and looked up to see Ruby standing in the doorway, woken up from her nap and staring at her with wide, curious eyes.

Immediately, panic settled in her chest. “No, don’t repeat that!” she said, half-worried about herself since she was already in trouble and half-concerned that her sister was learning all the wrong things. “It’s a….it’s a naughty word!”

Ruby was having none of it and beamed proudly at Yang. “Fuck!”

Yang leapt off the bed, her anger subsiding as worry took its place, but Ruby was too quick and she began speeding down the hallway to escape her frantic sister, an act that soon ended in smiles and giggles and a short talking to from Dad that ended in cookies.

And for just a moment, Yang forgot just how angry she felt.


	5. A Night Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my Tumblr: "Why are you looking at me like that?" "I'm just...stunned. You are beautiful."
> 
> Feel free to visit my account and send me some prompts!

The bar at the edge of the dance floor was the perfect spot for Yang to take a seat and let the burn of her lungs subside. 

She’d been dancing with Blake and FNKI already for hours, the music sickeningly thumping and blaring (exactly how she likes it), and it had been the first time in what seemed like lifetimes that she’d felt fiery, powerful, full of a life she’d once exuberantly shared before locking it away behind a scowl. 

Life hadn’t been easy, but getting to dance under glittering lights against a rumbling dancefloor made it seem just a bit more livable with everything else on the horizon. 

And getting to dance with Blake?

Well that made life even better.

Her eyes trailed back to her partner, clumsily bobbing to the rhythm with Neon and Kobalt; her dance form had not improved since they left the Academy several hours ago, though Yang knew better than anyone the years of practice it took to perfect even a simple step and not look like a total doofus (read: Ruby, Weiss, Blake, Jaune, etc.) while doing it.

Still, it didn’t stop an endeared smile from creeping across her lips as she rested, watching her partner clearly having the time of her life on the dancefloor.

 _‘She deserves this,’_ Yang thought wistfully to herself. It was true, at least to Yang: Blake had been through so much already, and not just in the year since Beacon fell but in so much of her life. It was never a wonder to Yang why Blake rarely smiled at Beacon, but that never stopped her from wanting to see her smile, from yearning for nothing more than a laugh from Blake’s mouth or a happy twinkle in her eye that showed that she would be okay and that she was happy.

“Two sunflower pops,” came a familiar voice from beside her, and Yang wondered how long she’d been in thought that she hardly noticed Blake joining her at the bar.

The bartender nodded coolly to her and turned to the fridge behind her, grabbing two bottles of Yang’s favourite pop (and a drink she knew meant more to them both than others might guess) before passing them to Blake. 

Blake smiled to the bartender, then to Yang as she held the bottle out for her. “You looked thirsty.”

“Probably cause I am,” Yang huffed, accepting the drink and knocking the cap off onto the bar counter. “Thanks, Blake. What are we toasting to this time?”

Blake pulled her lip between her teeth thoughtfully as she leaned forward against the bar. Her eyes wandered for a moment around the club, Yang doing her best to follow the track of her gaze but not being able to tear her own gaze away from Blake for long. It had been a while since Blake had gotten rid of her coat, and now her arms were fully on display to Yang, a thin layer of sweat glistening on her skin. She watched the heavy rise and fall of her chest press against black leather shifting tones under the gold and purple club lights that danced across her hair and spun in her thoughtful amber eyes, the ones that Yang could find everything she loved in.

When Blake turned back to her, Yang was still staring, and scarlet quickly flashed across her cheeks as she brought her drink into her chest. She smiled nervously before regaining a bit of her composure and bringing her arm out. “To finally getting a night off?”

Yang nodded gently as she picked her own bottle up from the counter. “To finally getting a night off!”

Their glasses clinked together quickly, and a surge of nostalgia swelled in Yang’s chest at what felt like deja vu, a callback to something that seemed far enough away to be a dream.

Blake brought the drink to her lips and took a large gulp, wiping away the excess with the back of her hand and letting out a relieved breath. “You were right about one thing, Yang,” she began as she leaned further against the bar, confident and cool and a look that was not helping Yang simmer down. “Neon’s been talking my ear off all night and I couldn’t hear a word she said!”

Yang smirked and leaned closer. “What did you say?” she shouted dramatically over the thumping bass of the club.

“I said I you were right, I can’t hear Neon talking!”

“What?”

Blake rolled her eyes and arched up from the counter. “Screw you, Xiao Long!”

“Is that wishful thinking?” Yang teased as she popped the bottle against her lips again; with the party atmosphere coursing in her body and filling her lungs, she could hazard a little bit of overt flirting for the night.

Blake, however, feigned shock as she turned more openly to Yang and brought her hand to her chest. “Oh, so you _can_ hear me?” She pressed her lips together but it wasn’t enough to mask the smirk slowly forming. Blake brought a finger up to the fringe of her hair, and Yang could swear she saw another flash of red grace her skin. “How did I look out there?”

Yang grinned mischievously. “Like an absolute disaster!”

“Wow,” Blake chuckled, “didn’t think I was that bad.” Then, with a coy wink: “At least, I didn’t think it was as bad as your flirting.”

“Hey, my flirting is fine!” Yang shot back.

Blake couldn’t hide her smile much longer, and even sooner did she burst into a fit of delighted laughter, bracing herself against the bar as she giggled and snorted. It was almost impossible for Yang not to start laughing herself: Blake’s joy was contagious and so rare these days, she would cherish any moment she could be there for it.

And soon, Yang’s laughter devolved into tears. Happy, joyful, relieved tears that streamed down her cheeks and filled the cracks and scars of her skin left by the bitter acidic ones she’d shed only a year ago. It was magical, to her, how gold can fill the holes and cracks and tears in someone, and for so long gold felt like her, felt like every desperate attempt she made to fill the holes in her crumbling life. Now, the gold that fixed her cracks came from a place of love, came from her love for the woman she would laugh one moment with and cry for the next. 

She straightened her posture against the bar but her gaze remained fixed on Blake, gentle and so very much in-love as the final few drops of happy tears cleared from her eyes. It was no mystery to Yang how she could be so stunned by her, beautiful and effervescent under the dim glow of the club that washed over her and played against the shine of black leather, polished nails, and burning cheeks.

Blake lifted her head and caught Yang’s stare again, and though her laughing continued slightly, her features almost immediately softened. “Yang?” she said, quickly catching her breath and rising from her hunched position as her giggles subsided. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Yang exhaled sheepishly. “Sorry, I’m just…speechless.” When Blake rose higher to meet Yang’s eyes without looking up, Yang took another step closer to her. “You look beautiful.”

An embarrassed huff escaped Blake’s mouth. “What, you think me laughing like an idiot is beautiful?”

“Absolutely.” Her answer was sure, spoken in a soft but true voice that caused her own cheeks to redden.

This time, it was Blake’s turn to take the next step closer, an air of wonder in her expression. “Yang…” 

Another step, and now they were brushing against each other. Yang’s hand rested on the bar still holding onto her bottle as her heart raced in her chest, pounding and screaming at her to go for it, to take the plunge, to do what had been building inside her for so long now, to act on what had been building between them.

Yang stopped in her place and sucked in a heavy, tentative breath. Blake was so close; they’d of course been close before, but close was always hugs and handshakes and the thrill of combat. Close hadn’t yet been smelling Blake’s perfume so clearly, hadn’t been seeing the beauty marks and faint scars along her shoulders she’d not noticed before, hadn’t been sharing Blake’s breath and feeling the cautious air on her own lips.

Close was what she wanted to be to Blake, and here she was, closer than ever. But Yang knew Blake, and she knew why she hesitated to bring her lips to Blake’s like she’d dreamed of too many times since they’d been brought back together.

Blake’s eyes darted quickly down to Yang’s lips before flicking back up, allowing Yang to see the want and the need turning in her amber eyes despite the frantic dance of colours that reflected in her stare. Yang waited, her mouth open slightly as she took the ecstasy surrounding them in with small, careful breaths.

“Wait,” Yang murmured, interrupting her own racing thoughts and heartbeat as the air she breathed turned cold. “Is this alright?”

Blake’s eyes never left hers. “What do you mean?”

“I mean is this what you want?” Yang confessed, her racing heart picking up speed as the words left her mouth. She had to be sure, she knew. She had to be sure she wasn’t doing anything Blake didn’t want to, that this was her choice.

“It is,” Blake said slowly, cautiously. “Is…is this what you want?”

Yang pulled back slightly, but already could feel the heat returning to her breath and her skin. “Well, yeah. I just wanted to-”

Another interruption, and this one not a welcome one. The blues and purples and golds of the club lights had vanished, along with the rumble of music, and foreboding crimson washed the club in its glow along with the blaring of alarms.

Yang and Blake were immediately apart, and it felt like a momentary sting to Yang, but she couldn’t give it any thought just yet as the menacing roars of Grimm mixed with the soundscape around them. 

_‘So much for a night off,’_ she lamented to herself as she readied the gauntlet around her mechanical wrist for the oncoming skirmish.


	6. Your Mind's Already Been Made Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an [nsfw morning after prompt](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/189852867750/the-morning-after-sentence-starters) on my Tumblr "Of course I'm freaking out! You're my friend!"; I'm still doing these with my fav ships so feel free to send me some!

Blake’s room isn’t necessarily unfamiliar. In fact, Yang’s thankful that when she wakes up groggy and with a pounding headache, she’s able to focus somewhat on the familiar elements of her room. 

The signed CFVY poster she won for her birthday.

The dark lilac curtains pulled in front of the window.

The embarrassing photo of them she keeps framed on her desk.

Yang grimaces--not at the the picture, at the headache--as she shifts underneath the sheets; she stops immediately, her mind clear for the first time this morning, and she feels her stomach drop and her chest clench.

Unfamiliar.

That’s how she feels.

Yang’s never been naked in Blake’s bed before.

Panic quickly settles into her mind beside the headache, spreading to her chest in a rush of adrenaline as she curls in on herself, covering herself with Blake’s covers.

“Oh fuck,” she murmurs to herself. This is _not_ how she wanted things to go.

She grumbles, trying to remember what even happened last night where she would end up like this in Blake’s bed (the answer’s obvious, but it’s the steps before she’s desperate to know). Her clothes are scattered around the room, and she remembers having stumbled into the bedroom with her shirt already slung off, and she remembers Blake’s lips against her neck leaving marks that, when she reaches up to touch them, are still tender under her fingers.

“Oh fuck,” she repeats, and repeats again as she slowly, cautiously pulls herself out from under the covers. She’s quick to grab her clothes and slip into them despite the shaking in her legs and the anxious trembling of her hands, and takes one more glance around the room.

The bed’s empty with sheets kicked aside and the clothes Blake had been wearing yesterday scattered haphazardly all over the floor (she remembers how fervent Blake had been to remove them, how desperate she seemed to have her lips on her skin).

Yang swallows back something in her throat (shame? regret? anxiety? worry?) when she realises Blake’s not in the room with her.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck.” Yang grimaces as she leans against the bedroom door, listening for anything that might indicate Blake’s out there and waiting for her, probably ready to call her out for what they did last night.

It’s not like Yang hasn’t wanted to do this, and it’s not like she hasn’t been thinking about Blake as more than a friend for almost their whole life. Yang’s spent enough nights crying into her pillow over feelings that won’t stop haunting her to know how she’s always felt, but this isn’t what she wanted. What does Blake think of this? Is it just a one-night stand to her? Did Yang take advantage of her?

Blake’s been through enough in her life for Yang to dread the idea that she’d made that mistake.

She swallows her pride as she nervously covers her chest; she’ll grab her shirt as quick as she can, and she’ll put her boots back on, and she’ll leave, and she’ll text Blake later to apologise.

Her fingers curl around the doorknob as she steels herself against the rising wave of worry washing over her, bracing herself for the awkward encounter that’s sure to ensue. 

The door slowly creaks open and Yang takes a peek into Blake’s apartment; it smells strongly of coffee, and a faint haze of smoke washes over the room. Yang lets out a sigh-- _better to just get it over with,_ she reckons--and makes a beeline for where her shirt should be on the ground.

Should be, and isn’t.

Before panic has a chance to flash in her chest, Blake’s voice cuts through the haze of the morning.

“Hey,” she says, and it’s almost too innocent, too gentle for what Yang’s feeling.

Yang turns around, arms still crossed over her chest, and sees Blake standing over the stove in the kitchen, a smoking pan in hand. She’s wearing a bathrobe--and only that--and it takes all of Yang’s strength not to give in and let her eyes wander over her body, her figure, images of the details of her body burned into Yang’s mind as reminders of the previous night.

Yang offers Blake the most uneasy smile she can muster, eyes wide and lips shaking. “Heya, Blake!”

Blake smiles at her--it’s so easy, so kind, the exact smile that Yang would melt at any other day--before her eyes dart down to her chest then back up to meet her eyes; Yang notices the flash of sadness between the looks. 

“You’re...going home already?”

“Well, I need my shirt first.” Even when she’s panicking, Yang’s first instinct is to joke and tease, and it’s probably the wrong thing to say in the moment when she sees how Blake’s shoulder sag.

Blake moves to the couch and grabs her shirt; it’s far less wrinkled than Yang would have expected after being very messily removed from her body and thrown onto the floor. “I tried ironing it this morning for you,” she says as she passes it to Yang. “Just didn’t want you looking like a mess.”

Yang quickly takes it from her hands and slips it over her head, relieved for the very brief moment where she doesn’t have to see the shifting emotions fighting for control in Blake’s expression; she assumes she doesn’t look too different.

“I, uh, made some coffee if you wanted it,” Blake says with a hint of levity in her voice once Yang is fully dressed. “I can put it in a travel mug if you want, or--”

Her heart tugs at her chest, a pang of adoration quickly subdued by her own frantic shame and worry. Blake’s not angry, not visibly, anyways, and somehow that makes Yang even more nervous about what happened. Blake’s been through enough, she always reminds herself, and she doesn’t need to be tricked or duped or fucked with again. Yang had promised she’d make sure Blake wouldn’t end up having to deal with anything like that again.

“I--” she begins, her voice caught somewhere between a sob and a gasp, “I think I should just go.” She turns from Blake, murmuring ‘oh fuck’ with every step towards the door.

“Wait, Yang! Please!” Blake calls out to her, and Yang does as she says. 

She can’t bring herself to turn around, not yet, not until the frustrated red recedes from her eyes (the red isn’t for Blake, it never could be, but she’s always feared what Blake might think if she thought it was).

“Can we, you know, talk? About what happened last night?” Blake asks softly. There’s a sad rasp in her own voice, too, and it’s enough to flush the remaining red from her eyes.

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Well,” Blake begins, “I wanted to know how you’re feeling about all that. You’re kind of freaking out.”

“Of course I’m freaking out!” She surprises herself with the shrillness of her own voice as she spins towards Blake, and now the tears she’d been stifling before return unhindered.   
She hates how easy it is to come apart in front of Blake (but she can’t help but love how safe it feels to do so). “You’re my best friend. I shouldn’t be, like, _sleeping_ with you!”

Blake pauses, her gaze focused on Yang’s eyes (or maybe she’s watching the tears that fall from them) before they dip to the floor. “Why not?”

The question takes Yang aback for a moment, and the sincerity of it keeps her stuck in that moment for longer than she wants to be. “Why not?” she repeats, processing the question and every layer of meaning behind it. “Because, well...I...”

Yang knows exactly why not. She knows what Blake’s been through, knows how cautiously she keeps this close to her. She was there for the nights where Blake phoned her, sobbing and scared, and she was there for the time it took Blake to heal and build trust in the world around her again. She knows how many times she’s tried--her month-long relationship with Sun feels like one of those things she’d tried, something that just couldn’t work--and she knows that despite trying, hiding her feelings about Blake hasn’t been easy.

She knows about the thin cracks in Blake’s skin, fragile and guarded against the things that could shatter her; Yang’s always known how to navigate around those cracks, how to keep Blake intact as best as she can, and she knows that the last thing she wants is to be the one to make her come apart.

And she worries, and she knows that she’s crossed a line, and it’s that fear that settles into her when she thinks of ‘why not’. Why not? 

“Because I don’t want to hurt you,” Yang admits. “Because I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, and, well...” The words fall off her tongue, the panic of the moment subsiding as her mind clears and her thoughts settle, and suddenly ‘why not’ cuts into her with its sincerity.

Blake stares at her, breathless, and the amber of her eyes would cut into her too if they weren’t veiled by glossy tears. It’s a look that speaks a million words--Blake has words for everything, for every little quirk and speck in the world--but Blake only speaks one for now.

“Yang.”

“I--” Yang chokes out, unsure of what she’s going to say next but she can’t stand the silence.

“Yang,” Blake repeats, and it’s sad, “you’re not making me do anything.”

“Y--you’ve always known how I felt, and I was being flirty, and we were both maybe a little tipsy--”

“Are you saying I slept with you because I was drunk?” she accuses quietly. “Or are you saying I slept with you because you manipulated me into it?”

Yang takes a step back, and ‘why not’ rattles around in her head like a taunt. “I don’t...I’m worried, Blake.”

Blake shakes her head, disbelief and disappointment clear in her expression. “Yang, please don’t be. Please _please_ don’t say shit like that.” 

Yang steps back again, but this time Blake steps forward to meet her; there’s no confrontation in her posture, no malice or anger in her eyes (or maybe there is, and Blake’s hiding it from her). 

“You know better than anyone I wouldn’t do anything I don’t want to. And what we did last night? I wanted to.” Her eyes dip low for a second. “I’ve...I’ve wanted to do that for a while, actually.” Then her eyes flick back up to Yang, and there is a fleeting anger in her eyes that’s quickly overtaken by reassurance. “So please don’t act like you’ve done anything bad. Please don’t turn this into another tragedy. We deserve something better for once.”

A lump forms in Yang’s throat, one that she swallows back quickly. Blake’s right. It’s been too long since either of them have been able to escape tragedy, and it’s changed them, causing them to jump at shadows and read between lines and expect happily ever afters really are just for fairy tales and not for them.

Yang feels Blake’s fingers wrap around her hand and give it a gentle squeeze, bringing her out of her own mind to see how Blake’s looking at her now.

It’s been so long since Yang’s seen hope in Blake’s eyes.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Yang says; it’s hardly a confession, not anymore, but the relief that courses through her and escapes in a bold sigh reassures her.

“I know,” Blake says, “and I’ve liked you for so long, too. I just never really knew how to handle feeling so strongly about someone again.” Her cheeks turn pink and she giggles bashfully. “Maybe actually telling you instead of trying to run from those feelings would’ve been better.”

“Would...would we have done what we did if you had?”

“Well, what do you think? Would we have slept together if I told you I liked you? Or did we have to wait until we were both at pretty low points and a little tipsy to get here?”

Yang chuckles, partly anxiously and partly in relief. “If you’d have told me you wanted to sleep with me, I probably wouldn’t have freaked out.” Then, she adds with a wink: “I might’ve just rawed you on the spot.”

Blake rolls her eyes. “Ugh, if you’re going to say shit like ‘raw’ then we’re never sleeping together again.”

The tease pulls slightly at Yang’s heart, a warning of danger with flashing red flags, but Yang’s nothing if not a thrillseeker. “Oh, raw me, Blake!” she teases, and her heart finally settles with her mind.

Despite the frown that stretches across her lips, Blake still closes the distance between them and links her hands behind Yang’s neck. “You sure you won’t freak out this time?”

“Pretty sure,” Yang says in a low voice, a counter to the last few flutters in her chest.

“Good,” Blake purrs against her neck; her breath is warm, and the meticulous softness of her voice draws heat to Yang’s cheeks. “I want this to be right.”

Blake’s quick to bring her lips to Yang’s, her kiss fervent and kind and elated and messy and Yang can only think that maybe they don’t deserve more tragedies.

Maybe they do deserve happily ever after.


	7. all was golden when the day met the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing): "Nightfall".
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

“The sky is really pretty, huh,” Blake murmurs close to Yang, her lips barely brushing up against her ear and her nose finding the softness of her hair.

Yang gives a small huff of a laugh and smiles, though her gaze remains fixed on the horizon. They’ve stopped for a break along the road, having found a plateau just big enough for their cars overlooking a dusty red canyon but hidden away by a ridge of large rocks, allowing them a fleeting moment of privacy. Ruby, Jaune, Ren, and Nora had all made their way back down the road to grab snacks at Ruby and Nora’s request at a gas station they passed not long before, and Pyrrha and Weiss decided they’d go with them (Weiss had insisted it was because she was hungry, too, but the look Pyrrha had given as they walked away suggested the pair had had their suspicions). 

Lying atop the hood of Yang’s car, Blake gently nuzzles into Yang’s side, resting her arm against her midriff and feeling hot skin press against her, her breaths gentle and free. A road trip with her friends had been something she’d really needed, but a moment of peace, quiet, and privacy is something she savours much more.

Blake tilts her head up and catches dark blue and orange reflected in Yang’s eyes, and in them she sees the beauty of the world, of where night and day meet in gentle harmony for a time.

Her arm curls tighter around Yang’s stomach. “As a child, my parents used to take me to the beach to watch the sun set over the water. It was the most beautiful thing I thought I’d ever see in my life. There’s nothing more stunning than a good sunset.” Then, she presses her lips to Yang’s cheek in a quick, sweet kiss. “You could probably give it a run for its money, though.”

A small, joking gasp escapes Yang’s lips, and she turns to Blake with a false air of surprise. “Blake Belladonna, are you suggesting that I am prettier than a sunset?”

“I just might be.”

Yang smirks. “And here I thought the prettiest thing in the world was you.”

Blake returns the smirk, this time with a devilish curl to her lip. “A girl’s allowed to change her mind. Besides,” and she presses another kiss to Yang’s cheek, lingering a second longer after this one, “I’d much rather kiss the sun than watch it set.”

She feels a heat against her lips, and pulls back to see pink spread through Yang’s cheeks; she never gets tired of that reaction, and seeing Yang blush reminds her of how much Yang loves her. How much someone could actually love her.

It barely takes her a moment to slip herself over Yang’s stomach, resting a leg on either side as she rests her hands on either side of her head. She can feel Yang adjusting herself underneath Blake as her hand reaches up for Blake’s thigh, holding her steady as Blake lowers herself down to kiss her, the day and the night meeting harmoniously between them.

Blake can’t help but feel bright and carefree, and gold light from the sunset spills over them as she deepens the kiss, barely paying attention to how hot the metal of the car is against her when Yang’s skin is so much hotter. She feels Yang’s abs flex against her thighs as they move against each other, and that lightness in her chest spreads to her head, to her abdomen, to her hands that begin to wander along Yang’s shoulders and down to her collarbones.

She toys with the shoulder strap on Yang’s tank top, lightly grazing her fingers along Yang’s skin as her thumb runs along the orange fabric, and she thinks that even with night so close behind, it’s still so hot on the hood of this car and they’ve been travelling in for hours in stuffy discomfort and how good it would feel to strip it all away.

Yang moans against her lips when she drags her hand further down her torso, and again when Blake’s fingers find their way to the hem of her shirt, barely inches from her waistband. She feels the smile Yang’s so eager to give in to, and Blake slips her hand under her shirt.

“Let’s get rid of this,” she murmurs between kisses. “It’s too hot for clothes right now.”

“It was too hot for clothes all day,” Yang teases, already lifting her arm to let Blake slide her tanktop off her torso.

Blake rolls her eyes, but she can’t help but smile hungrily when Yang’s out of her top, her impressive abs on display and glowing in the gold light of sunset. She quickly sheds her own top, discarding it beside them as she takes in the coolness of the air against her bare skin.

And, of course, taking in the enamoured gaze Yang regards her with. “Not that I’m complaining,” Yang says as Blake lowers herself back down over her. “Better late than never.”

Blake hovers above Yang for a moment, partially reveling in how fresh her skin feels now that it’s free from her sweaty tee, partially enjoying the feeling of Yang’s own bare skin under her hands without any clothes in the way.

Their lips don’t get the chance to meet again, since Blake easily picks up on the sound of footfalls against dirt, though neither of them are quick enough to put their tops back on before Weiss makes her way onto the plateau. She takes a purposeful sip from her tumbler and eyes the two of them before looking back over to where she came from.

“You were right, love. They _absolutely_ were about to have sex on the hood of their car.”

Blake reels up, her cheeks burning in embarrassment as Yang lets her head fall back against the windshield. 

“We were not!” Blake retorts, only now reaching to put her tee back on.

“It’s just hot out here!” Yang adds defensively.

Weiss purses her lips, though it’s clear she’s trying her best to mask a smile. “Of course. That’s all it was. Now put your shirts back on, we brought snacks.”

Blake and Yang slide off of the hood of the car and follow Weiss to where their friends await, though Blake can’t help but turn back to the sky burning gold behind them, and when she turns back she sees Yang beaming back at her, she smiles at how the night meets the day in her eyes.


	8. we've loved far (and we've traveled wide)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing): "Trembling Hands"
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

“Come on, Weiss!” Yang urges with barely-contained excitement. “Hurry up!”

Weiss pouts as she reaches up for the loosened road sign that Yang, Pyrrha, and Blake had all been so excited about stealing off the side of the highway. This is absolutely a felony, no matter how much Yang seems delighted by the idea of having a ‘Vacuo Beach - 112 km’ sign in the back of their car (and Blake had seemed way more excited than her girlfriend at the prospect of living by the motto she says so often Weiss would be surprised if she doesn’t have it tattooed somewhere’).

The only reason Weiss is the one doing it is because she’s the only one small and light enough to sit on Pyrrha’s shoulders to reach it–though she’s certainly having a hard time focusing on the task at hand with her girlfriend’s face between her thighs.

They haven’t gotten there yet, much to Weiss’ disappointment. No, not disappointment in Pyrrha; she could _never_ be disappointed in Pyrrha. Rather, it’s disappointment in herself that apparently she can’t get _intimate_ with her girlfriend because she’s so in her own _head_ about how she might do or how Pyrrha might _see_ her or how–

“Ow!” she yelps, drawing her hand back from the metal sign; she inspects it quickly, relieved to see that she’s not bleeding.

“Is everything alright up there, love?” Pyrrha asks, tilting her head up.

“I’m fine! Everything’s fine!” Weiss calls back, her voice betraying her words by cracking and turning shrill.

She reaches up to the loose sign again with trembling hands, ready to wrench it free of the sign post so that her girlfriend and her two dumbass best friends can have their stupid criminally-obtained sign post. Why she ever even agreed to being the one to take it, she hardly knows, but the way Pyrrha giggles and jitters with excitement every time it seems like Weiss is about to pull it free is doing wonders for her strength in the moment.

The sign gives with a lot more ease than she expected, and Pyrrha quickly squats down to let Weiss slide off as she hands her prize to Yang, who immediately plants her lips against it before handing it to Blake, who mirrors her girlfriend’s action.

Weiss grimaces at how disgustingly dirty that sign must be, but her expression shifts from disgust to surprise when Pyrrha slides her arms under Weiss’, linking her fingers against her stomach. Weiss lifts her hands over Pyrrha’s, grateful for the firmness her girlfriend’s stable hands offer.

“An excellent job, Weiss,” she congratulates with a quick kiss to the cheek.

“Thank you,” Weiss says, her voice gentle and relieved as she lets her head lull back against Pyrrha’s chest. “It was nothing, of course. I’m practically the living embodiment of ‘be gay, do crime’.”

“Really?” Pyrrha pulls her hands apart and wraps her fingers around Weiss’, and Weiss still instantly, her breath caught in her chest as Pyrrha hums thoughtfully against her ear. “Because your hands are trembling.”

Weiss swallows back any resistance she may have put up to the accusation, unable to deny anything with Pyrrha’s lips pressed so close up against her skin. “Absolutely not. No, I have never committed a crime in my life. I’m not ‘be gay, do crime’ in any way.” And she only hopes the confession doesn’t make Pyrrha think any less of her, see her in the way she worries about when she thinks of baring all of her to Pyrrha.

There’s a pause, and then a short chuckle, and then finally a soft kiss pressed to her temple. Weiss looks up, cheeks turning red, as Pyrrha smiles down at her. 

“You did just steal a road sign, so welcome to the club, love,” she says warmly.

Weiss can’t help the smile the unfurls across her lips–and why would she want to? With Pyrrha holding her and her two friends joyfully celebrating their newest prize, smiling is the only thing she can do.

And with that little anxiety out of the way, she also can’t help but wonder if maybe the other things she fears are just as trivial.

The ghost of Pyrrha’s kiss against her cheek might just prove it for her.


	9. in my body i'm a disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing): "Rampage"
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

Yang swings.

And swings again.

And swings again and again and again.

Fire courses through her veins, rising heat under her skin driving each of her strikes into the chests of the Grimm surrounding her. Her Semblance sparks against her scalp, and she can feel fire licking off of the tips of her hair.

Sometimes, she thinks, she can’t help but give into the storm rampaging just beneath her skin. Sometimes, she thinks, it makes her feel alive again, not weighed down by the voices harping at her for violent acts against a liar and pretender.

Sometimes, she thinks, it feels good to let go.

Yang ducks under a dangerously close swipe from an Ursa Major and quickly mirrors the attack; her strike is sloppy, fueled by anger, but it connects and sends the Grimm soaring backwards. There’s no time to relish in the kill, though, and she turns immediately to send her fist into the chest of another Grimm behind her.

The fight is hazy, sweat flinging and teeth gritting, and she can hardly register the violence around her until the last Grimm is down for the count and the last few sparks of her aura fizzle and disperse, leaving her spent.

She takes in a few shaky breaths, her lungs burning with every inhale. 

She knows she’s better than this.

She knows she’s going to have to control her temper when she sees her mom again.

Yang looks around for her bike–mostly untouched, save for a few spots where paint has been chipped away–and prepares to mount it again, eyeing the black columns of Grimm remains that billow in the air.

Her hand shakes against the handlebars, and she still doesn’t know if it’s the spirit of a fight shaking, prying, desperate to come out again, to go for round two. Or, maybe, it’s the fear that she’ll lose again drawing her back, warning her against another violent outburst.

One more breath is enough to subdue the feeling and the crimson bleeding into her eyes, and she starts Bumblebee up to continue down the road, tasting bitter shame at the rampage she’s quickly retreating from.


	10. and when we burst, start over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an [nsfw morning after prompt](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/189852867750/the-morning-after-sentence-starters) on my Tumblr "I thought you'd be gone by the time I woke up..."; I'm still doing these with my fav ships so feel free to send me some!

It’s a little shocking for Yang to wake up to her hand brushing along empty space beside her, but by now Yang knows not to let the disappointment get to her. She’s used to one-night stands, to bringing a girl back to her apartment only to never see her face again, and she wants to be annoyed whenever she wakes up lonely again.

Instead, she’s just tired of it.

Yang just never thought she’d have to add Blake to that big list of people that left her.

She draws her hand back from the space, the hairs on her arm raising at the coldness beside her, and rolls onto her back with a weary sigh. Daylight spills between the blinds, painting bars of shadow across the room like a prison; it may as well be, Yang thinks. It’s so hard to breathe in this room, constricted and faced with all her own mistakes pressing down on her.

It’s always the same, and she wonders why she even hoped it could be any different. Her and Blake had just begun sleeping together, and this territory is so _new_ to her, and taking things slow had never been Yang’s greatest strength. 

Telling Blake she loves her in the middle of having sex probably hadn’t been her greatest idea.

And now she’s gonna have to get used to seeing that name on her list.

She groans–at the harsh light of day constricting her against the bed, at the voices and pictures in her mind replaying that damn moment in her head over and over, at her own skin crawling at the realisation at just how much she’s fucked up _again_ –

The door opens, and Yang quickly bolts upright, reflexively bringing her blanket over her chest.

Blake stands in the doorway, looking at her with a look of bemusement and confusion. “Good morning?”

Yang pauses, searches her mind for her next sentence, and speaks in a shaky, cautious voice: “Morning.” The words that leave her mouth are thin, light, as if they could shatter the image of Blake being _there_ if she’s not careful, as if it’s all an illusion.

But it isn’t, which Blake proves by smiling and slipping back into the empty space; immediately, Yang feels warmer, her skin settling and the fast voices in her mind slowing to a halt as she takes her in. She runs her hand along Blake’s shoulder (soft) and feels for the beating of her heart against her chest (gentle). 

Blake watches, seeming slightly more confused but nonetheless leaning into Yang’s touch before letting herself be pulled closer. “Are you okay, Yang?” Her voice goes lower, more serious, and she places her forehead against Yang’s. “Did you have another nightmare?”

“No,” Yang murmurs, and she pauses again to confirm to herself that Blake is here, and she takes another moment to remove her name from her list with a sigh of relief. “I just…I thought you’d be gone by the time I woke up.”

“I just went to the bathroom, you goof,” Blake says with a soft huff of air, but despite the tease her tone is serious and understanding, and Yang anchors herself to it. “You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

“I know. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have gotten so worried,” Yang relinquishes.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Blake brings a hand to cup Yang’s cheek, stroking her thumb along her cheekbone in gentle, soothing motions that send away the final bits of worry the morning brought. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Yang lets Blake’s thumb run its circuit along her skin, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a moment before she swallows back fleeting regret. Another sigh helps her muster the courage to bring back the voice in her head, and this time she addresses it.

“I didn’t freak you out last night, did I?” she asks in a very small voice, one she wasn’t even sure she could manifest. “About the whole…you know…”

Blake’s thumb keeps comforting her. “Well, I wasn’t expecting it,” she begins gently, “but freaked out isn’t how I’d put it.”

“How would you put it?”

“Maybe…” 

The stroking against her cheek falters in its rhythm, and Yang’s sure she’s struck a nerve, ready to pull back the words she’s already said and forget the conversation happened until Blake’s thumb trails down her cheek and along her jaw until coming to rest against her bottom lip. 

Yang glances up, and her gaze fixes on Blake’s amber eyes. Her look swims between gentleness and calm and what Yang might mistake for desire or yearning, and she tries to swim after that look, to catch it and find just what Blake is seeing in her right now; of course, she stays behind and watches how everything they’ve ever been to each other swirls in that look, struck by the beauty of how those moments constellate in her gaze. Enamoured by watching it all come together, embracing finality as things begin anew. Accepting the look in Blake’s eyes as love, even if there is no word for it. It’s everything she needs, anyways.

But there is a word for it, and Blake’s lips form around it as Yang comes back to this moment that constellations are born from. “Maybe I love you, too.”

Blake presses her lips to Yang’s temple in a soft kiss, and then angles herself to capture Yang’s lips, and the light of day that washes over them through the blinds isn’t a prison, Yang realises, but something new waking between them. 

Yang smiles against Blake’s kiss before their lips join again, warmth rushing under her skin as her heartbeat picks up once again, and her fingers curl into Blake’s hair as she thinks of those words, and how everything feels possible and endlessly expanding, free to chase whatever they are now.


	11. but we can stay here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from my tumblr [PatchoDraws](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/tagged/my%20writing) from [this list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/190968523995/prompt-list)!
> 
> Writing prompts are open on my tumblr right now so feel free to send me some!

There’s something hypnotic about watching Yang sleep, Blake thinks. About the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of her chest under the covers, about seeing her so still and peaceful and at ease, and Blake has to stop early morning tears of endearment from coming to her eyes at the sight. Golden hair pools around her head and onto the pillow under her, a few stray locks clinging to her cheek and spilling against her barely parted lips.

Blake stifles a yawn as she moves closer in the bed to Yang; it’s too early to get out of bed yet, her knees still stiff with sleep and her mind swimming in hardly-consciousness. And why should she get up? Their bed’s so cozy, she doesn’t have to be anywhere else for a few hours, and, really, snuggling with her girlfriend is the best reason of all not to leave the comfort of their room.

Her groggily hand finds its way to Yang’s shoulder, finding rest against soft skin as she trails her fingers back and forth. She finds the details of Yang’s body she knows so well, the dips in her skin from scars of long-forgotten battle, the freckles she could swear dance under her touch, it’s all there and so familiar and it lulls Blake further back into her tired calm.

And it’s perfect, just the two of them, intertwined and lazy and drawn in their own worlds of sleep, nothing but comfortable with their own bodies together. It’s perfect, and it’s serene, and Blake can feel her lids growing heavy again as her fingers slow their circuit on Yang’s shoulder...

A small, tired moan sounds from Yang’s lips, and Blake slowly draws her hand away as Yang stirs, shuffling under the covers and letting a sleepy smirk stretch across her lips.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads tiredly as she reaches her arm over to Blake; she makes it about halfway before her arm falls back down against the bed, her palm resting against the top of Blake’s hand.

Blake, of course, can’t help but giggle softly. “Morning, sweetheart.” She turns Yang’s hand over and resumes her gentle massage, drawing invisible lines across her palm. “Sleep well?”

Yang grumbles (or laughs, and though Blake’s not quite sure, she knows it’s the cutest sound ever). “Still sleeping, babe. Do not disturb.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to stop,” Blake teases, cautioning Yang by slowing her fingers against her hand; Yang immediately wraps her own fingers around Blake’s and pulls it close to her chest, snuggling against her fist with a content smile of tired victory.

She can feel the steady beating of Yang’s heart against her knuckles, steadfast and resolute, each beat drawing Blake more awake and yet further into the comfort and calm of the room.

“I win,” Yang murmurs, and she brings Blake’s hand up to her cheek as her eyes slip closed again. “Your hand is mine.”

“My hand was always yours,” Blake jokes, tapping her fingers against Yang’s warm cheek.

Despite the softness of her features, Blake immediately recognizes the playful expression Yang’s face takes on as she guides her hand towards her lips, planting a tired, tender kiss against her thumb.

“So I can do that whenever I want?” Yang says as she smiles against Blake’s thumb.

Blake feels her cheeks flush, and her own lips spread into a tender smirk. “Yes, sweetheart.”

She watches a blush settle in Yang’s cheeks as she presses her lips to Blake’s thumb again, and then to her palm, before finally resting her cheek back against her hand.

A string of murmurs escapes her mouth, and Blake snorts a small giggle as she brings herself closer to Yang. “What was that?”

“Mmf you...” she murmurs again, and Blake rolls her eyes at how endlessly adorable Yang is when she’s tired.

“One more time, sweetheart.”

Yang grins at Blake and clutches her fingers tighter around her hand. “I love you,” she repeats a third time, at last coherent, her voice dripping with affection and love and peace.

Blake slides closer, and closer, and closer until their foreheads touch, and she lets her eyes flutter closed. “I love you, too.”

Yang lets out a tired giggle that almost immediately shifts into a gentle snore, letting her head fall further into the pillow under her. Blake curls her fingers against the soft skin of Yang’s cheek, planting a gentle kiss on Yang’s nose as she promptly follows her back into a peaceful sleep.


	12. all you get is alibis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From an [nsfw morning after prompt](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/189852867750/the-morning-after-sentence-starters) on my Tumblr "Good morning, hope you don't mind me borrowing your shirt."; I'm still doing these with my fav ships so feel free to send me some!

A sharp knock at the door of her apartment forces Blake’s eyes open; she groans and pushes herself up from the bed, careful not to wake Yang as she does so. Sunlight pours through the windows in slats over the two of them, gold split between shadow, and she winces against the early morning glow that she’s so not had enough sleep to deal with.

She rolls over groggily, cursing the way her body remains stiff despite her stretching, and checks her phone on the side table, and–of course–she’s slept through her alarm.

And her second alarm.

And several text messages, phone calls, and a missed FaceTime call from Weiss.

Panic immediately courses through her veins, rushing to her head and jolting her awake. _Weiss_. She’d almost forgotten about Weiss, and about the meeting they’d planned for this morning to go over the details for their assignment, and about Weiss’ tenacity and insistence on remaining on-schedule.

“Shit,” Blake murmurs, forcing her phone back onto the side table with a subdued _thump_! 

She looks down at herself–her very _naked_ self–and over at Yang, who she’s just thankful right now isn’t snoring up a storm like she usually does. Another quick glance around the room draws her eyes to the crumpled pile of clothes on the floor, which she darts towards, her movements charged with adrenaline, picking out the first suitable things she can find, which happen to be her briefs and the shirt Yang had been wearing last night. 

She slips into her clothes, taking the briefest of moments to indulge herself as she slides Yang’s shirt over her nose, and looks over at Yang. She’s still asleep, still so peaceful, and she wishes she could stay here, listening to her soft, restful breathing and watching her shuffle under the sheets comfortably.

Instead, she sighs against her temptations, and moves towards the bed to plant a gentle kiss to Yang’s temple. “Good morning. Hope you don’t mind me borrowing your shirt.”

Of course, Yang stirs against Blake’s lips, and a content moan slips from her mouth as she turns onto her back, smiling up at Blake.

“Morning,” she murmurs sleepily. “Why do you need my shirt?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Blake assures her, gently squeezing her shoulder before stroking her arm a few times. “You just stay here and go back to sleep. I’ll be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

Blake pulls her bottom lip under her teeth at the question; it’s innocent, and Yang likely _means_ it innocently, but Yang’s no stranger to loneliness, to abandonment, and there’s no way Blake can’t hear a small pang of fear in her sleepy tone. She made Yang a promise, one that she’s adamant about keeping, and she leans down to kiss Yang again, a stalwart reminder of how easy it is to keep that promise.

“Nowhere, Weiss is just coming over for a moment,” Blake tells her, her lips close and brushing against Yang’s warm skin. “She doesn’t know you’re here, though.”

Yang smiles at her, her eyes still closed, and she rolls back over with a yawn. “Okay. Have fun. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Blake returns teasingly. She pulls herself up from over Yang and quickly moves towards the door, running a quick hand through her hair to ease any suspicion of what her and Yang had been doing the night before.

Weiss’ knocks continue against the door, now more frantic and joined by her persistent voice calling her name over and over. Blake gives herself one more look-over–she supposes she probably could’ve cleaned up a _little_ better in the time it took to say good morning to Yang, but of course she doesn’t regret her decision; after all, she’d much rather kiss her girlfriend at any given chance. (Plus, she’s fairly adept at coming up with excuses.)

She opens the door and–

“There you are!” Weiss reprimands, her hands on her hips and an annoyed pout pulling at her lip. “I’ve been _calling_ you, I’ve been _texting_ you, I’ve been _knocking_ on your _door_ for the past _five minutes_!”

“Sorry, Weiss,” Blake says sheepishly, moving aside to let her friend in. “I overslept.”

“Well, duh! I told you to stop pulling those all-nighters!” Weiss responds, and while her tone is harsh she’s at least a little bit thankful that it comes from a place of care. 

She stops in the middle of the room, slides her satchel off of her shoulder and onto Blake’s sofa, and turns to look at her; a pang of heat flashes in her cheeks as Weiss’ expression turns suspicious. “Whose shirt is that?”

“It’s mine,” Blake lies, and she hopes it’s convincing. “I found it at the thrift store. Thought it was kinda goofy.”

“It says ‘Beaches Be Crazy’,” Weiss points out with a tilt of her head; Blake tries not to cringe when she remembers reading what the shirt said last night (it was all the more reason to take it off of her).

Blake crosses her arms over her chest. “Your point?”

“You hate the beach.”

“Says who?”

“You. When I invited you to the beach last month and you said ‘no, I hate the beach’.” Weiss takes a step forward, and Blake feels her skin heating up, feels pink blush slipping into her cheeks and neck, feels her ears twitch under the pressure. “Who is it?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

Weiss stops in front of Blake and studies her; it’s like an interrogation, and Blake thinks maybe she’s not as good at the lying thing as she thought before. 

“You overslept and made me wait a whole ten minutes until you finally opened the door. Your hair's a mess, you smell–frankly–a little bit sweaty, you’re _not_ wearing any pants, and I would bet all of my father’s shares that that shirt doesn’t belong to you. So let me ask again, Blake: who is it?”

Blake swallows back the urge to slip away. She knows Weiss’ curiosity is innocent, but there’s something–an annoying little _something_ –in her brain that’s pulling her back. Maybe it’s that her and Yang have really only been together for a few days now. Maybe it’s the pressure of being up against a wall, badgered with questions and inquiries about her love life.

Maybe, she thinks, that little something is telling her to keep what she has with Yang for herself. At least for a little bit longer.

Either way, she doesn’t have to tell Weiss the truth. Before she can open her mouth to either shut down her mostly true accusations or try and defend herself, ‘the truth’ opens the door and walks into the living room in nothing but her underwear, holding Blake’s phone under her right armpit.

“Babe, I think Weiss is here,” she begins sleepily as she moves into the living room, reaching under her arm for Blake’s phone. “She’s been texting you–”

Then, she stops, and the words fall from her lips, and the air in the room freezes as Weiss and Blake’s eyes fall to her, Weiss’ expression a mix of shock, surprise, and what Blake can only guess is subdued delight.

Weiss takes a step back from an _extremely_ flustered Blake. Yang’s skin burns red as her hair begins to spark, and she takes a step back towards the bedroom door.

“Hey, uh, morning, Weiss!” she finally manages after a far-too-long and far-too-awkward silence. “I, uh, didn’t know you were here.”

Blake’s eyebrows furrow as her blush deepens. “I told you first thing this morning.”

“Babe, I was, like, half-asleep. All I got from that was ‘Weiss’ and ‘I’m taking your shirt.” Yang’s eyes quickly fall to her shirt on Blake, and she smirks. “So I guess I should probably go put some clothes on, too.”

“Stop!” Weiss snaps, her finger darting right up, and Blake can’t help but respect the tone of authority she holds and how effective it is. Weiss’ attention falls back to Blake for a moment, and then to Yang, and then to the shirt Blake’s wearing. “So, Yang, huh? Since when?”

“Two weeks,” Blake says awkwardly. Then, in a more quiet tone: “That’s how long we’ve been sleeping together.”

Yang steps forward, somehow both confident and embarrassed. “And two days since we started officially dating.”

Weiss’ eyes dip, and she looks to be in thought for a moment. Blake and Yang’s eyes meet, apprehension drifting between their gazes as the silence presses around them. It’s not how Blake really envisioned telling Weiss (or any of their friends, really, for that matter), but now that it’s out, unavoidable, worries and doubts start pecking at her mind; Weiss’ silence doesn’t help with that at all, either.

She sees the look in Yang’s eyes, drifting between lilac and red, a red that Blake knows doesn’t come from a place of anger but of fear, and she thinks that maybe Yang’s in the same boat with her thoughts. Is this too soon? What do they do now? How will their friends react to them keeping this a secret from them? 

Finally, Weiss inhales a long, laboured breath, and turns towards the couch to take a seat. Her expression remains stony, and for a moment fear tugs at Blake’s chest, but the small smirk pulling at the corner of Weiss’ lips that quickly grows into a grin settles her heart.

“It’s about goddam _time_ , you two!” she cries, leaping off of the couch to approach them both. “Ruby and I have been wondering when you’d actually start going out. We even placed bets.”

Blake raises a curious eyebrow and turns to Yang, who seems to be just as amazed and confused as her.

“What…did you bet?” Yang asks, clearly trying to avoid the very awkward discussion of just how obvious they’ve been.

“An amount of candy that will certainly hurt my wallet.” Then, with a slightly more frustrated tone: “Guess Ruby won that one.”

“Whoa, hey now!” Blake interjects, stepping forward. “You had suspicions? And you never, like, _asked_ either of us about it?”

“Like you’d actually say anything,” Weiss says flippantly. “I mean, you tried telling me that that obnoxious t-shirt was yours.”

“Oof, bad move, babe,” Yang adds. “She’d never have believed that.”

“Thank you!”

Blake steps closer to Yang, her eyes still on Weiss and her expression still just as baffled. She’d worried for some time now how and when they’d tell their friends, and now that it’s out in the open, she feels strangely free, strangely relieved to actually have someone else know.

Again, her eyes meet Yang’s, and again their thoughts are the same, as told by a soft lilac and a gentle smile.

And then she shoots her attention right back to Weiss, actually processing every other aspect of the conversation that she missed before. “Wait! Why did you think there was someone different here?”

Weiss shrugs. “It’s fun to mess with you.”

Blake frowns. “You’re the _worst_.” Then, a thought crosses her mind, and she turns her attention back to Yang with hooded eyes and a devilish smirk crossing her lips. “Hey, Yang, wanna make out?”

“No!” Weiss interjects. “Not while I’m here, a–and _not_ while we still have homework to do!”

Yang shrugs and smirks, her eyes darting over to Weiss for a brief moment. “Sure,” and her lips take Blake’s in a passionate, sloppy, and intentionally noisy kiss.

“Ugh! You two are going to be the absolute death of me.”

Blake breaks away from the kiss, somewhat reluctantly, but she has a more important mission right now. “You’re free to stay, Weiss. Though this might get a little loud–”

“Absolutely not!” She picks up her satchel from the couch and turns towards the door, but not without first glancing back at them: “I’m going to go grab another coffee. If you two aren’t done… _canoodling_ by the time I get back, I will finish this project without your help and claim all the credit.”

Blake laughs into Yang’s chest as Weiss walks out with a formidable _clack clack clack_ to her step. Yang rests her cheek against the top of Blake’s head, breathing a relieved sigh into her hair.

“She took that pretty well, I think,” Yang jokes quietly.

Blake smiles, presses a gentle kiss to Yang’s collarbone, and looks up at her. “I’ll admit, it feels kind of…good to have someone who knows. You know?”

“Yeah, it does,” Yang agrees, her voice gentle against Blake’s skin. “Though, she did just give us ten minutes to ‘canoodle’.”

“I can’t believe she still says that.”

“Well, what do you think, Blake?” Yang pulls away and delivers a coy wink. “Wanna canoodle?”

“Ugh, not if you say it like that,” Blake teases, jokingly pushing Yang away. “It’s almost worse than ‘raw’!”

“I think those are some pretty good words, thank you very much!”

Blake rolls her eyes. “Okay, Miss ‘Beaches be Crazy!’”

Yang scoffs. “Hey! I think that shirt looks pretty great on me!”

“I think it looks better on the floor,” Blake responds quickly, already toying with the hem; before she can remove it, though, her phone vibrates in Yang’s hand, and she reaches for it to check for whatever notification is interrupting them–

Weiss’s name appears beside a text message: “You two have nine minutes left. Please tell Yang to put some clothes on for when I return.”

Blake chuckles softly. “What do you say you get changed and when Weiss gets back in six minutes we just start making out on the couch to annoy her?”

Yang smiles down at her. “God, I fucking love you.”


	13. Dancing with You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/614896769217822720/hnryycvll-l-o-v-e-prompt-list-we-could-if-you) on my Tumblr "After watching you dance, I'm certain you have no feet."; I'm still doing these with my fav ships so feel free to send me some!

Quiet moments are few and far between, what with the constant slew of missions and White Fang meetings and trips to the school, so when they do happen Yang is sure to enjoy every second of them.

The sky is clear above her, the sun reaching through the palm trees covering the balcony she’s lounging on, thankful for the respite and the heat and the beautiful weather Menagerie has to offer on hers and Blake’s well-earned but short vacation.

Her drums her fingers along her stomach to the sound of faint music from inside the manor as her foot taps against the air a light beat. Her body already feels so much more relaxed than it has in _months_ , her mind so much clearer, the sun’s warmth dancing on her skin.

Across from her, Blake sits comfortably in a lawn chair, book in hand and drink beside her. Even basking in the summer sun, she looks absolutely stellar, barely peering over her sunglasses at the words on the page, her shirt slid off of one shoulder to reveal her smooth, sun-kissed skin.

It’s moments like this where Yang falls in love all over again: not in the heat of a battle where she sees Blake’s strength and bravery, or passionate nights together where Blake’s skin meets hers, bare and hot and thrilling all at once. 

They’re here, together, at peace. It’s hard _not_ to fall in love every day with Blake.

The music inside fades to silence, and a blast of trumpet and guitar and energetic tone sound off. Immediately, Blake’s ears twitch curiously, and she peers over her shoulder to the open window before smirking (a sight that Yang will never tire of, frankly).

She sets her book down on the side tablet and walks over to where Yang’s seated before reaching out to her.

“Let’s dance, babe!” she says, her smile beaming too eagerly for Yang to ever say ‘no’.

Still, saying ‘yes’ doesn’t mean she can’t be coy about it. “Promise you won’t step on my feet?” she teases, lazily leaning up to take Blake’s hand and let herself be pulled out of her reclined beach chair.

“Only if you don’t step on mine,” Blake shoots back, curling her fingers over Yang’s knuckles and bringing her other hand to her waist.

“Oh please, babe,” Yang begins, resting her hand on Blake’s shoulder; it’s warm and soft, and she has to resist leaning into it fully in embrace. “After watching you dance, I’m certain you have no feet.”

Blake feigns offence, bringing her palm over her lips. “Yang Xiao Long, are you calling me a bad dancer?”

“Of course not, babe.” Her hand finds it’s way down Blake’s arms, and she takes a bit of a wider step back to keep up with the music. “You’re great.”

“Alright,” Blake murmurs, her voice low and hot in that oh-so enticing way that makes Yang’s knees weak, “I’ll remember you said that next time you offer to cook dinner.”

“What’s wrong with my cooking?”

Blake pulls her close and spins, though her eyes never leave Yang’s and her smirk never falters. “Nothing. It’s good. Great, even.”

“Ugh, you’re never going to let me live that down,” Yang says between a grumble and a chuckle, letting her feet find purchase again on the slate floor as her face falls into the crook of Blake’s neck and shoulder.

“Not until you admit I’m not a bad dancer,” Blake says with a slight laugh of her own, pressing a quick kiss to Yang’s temple.

“Well, keep dancing with me and I’ll let you know.” Yang pulls back from Blake’s shoulder and gets back into the swing of their messy, playful dance, letting Blake lead her through half-confident dips and sways and twirls that they both laugh and smile through.

By the time the song ends, the day is sunnier and their smiles are wide and beaming, and Yang can’t think of any better way to spend her afternoon (or her life) than dancing and falling in love with Blake Belladonna.


	14. Still I Burn for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/190968523995/prompt-list) on my Tumblr "Oh, you're jealous!"; I'm still doing these with my fav ships so feel free to send me some!

Maybe the group had been a bit harsh coming upon the Dusty Diner earlier today for lunch, because apparently it’s got _quite_ the night scene. Several bikes and cars are pulled up outside, the radio’s blasting classic rock hits that Ruby just can’t stop bobbing her head to, the pool tables are out and crowded by cheering patrons, and Blake is off to the side, miserable about it all.

Okay, so maybe they were harsh about it, but that won’t stop her from quietly finishing her beer off at one of the tables they’d taken when they arrived, watching from a distance and Yang, Nora, and Jaune went off to play pool. 

The crowd around the table is a little loud, a little big, a little bit not her type of group, but even getting to watch Yang win round after round at the game she’d clearly gained some sort of mastery over had been enough to keep her entertained (she definitely wouldn’t complain about getting to admire her girlfriend leaning over the table from this angle).

At some point, someone else had joined in while Nora was taking a break. Someone tall, and attractive, and hiding her gaze behind a pair of shades, and maybe a little bit too playful when competing with Yang Xiao Long for Blake to feel good. Except they’re not flirting, that much Blake is sure about: she can easily tell the difference between Yang’s smiles, and this one is far from the teasing smirk she usually reserves for Blake and Blake alone.

Still, it won’t stop her from sitting far away, wishing it were her getting to banter with Yang over a casually competitive game of pool.

She’s joined at her corner table by Weiss and Pyrrha, the former holding a very full pitcher of water in her hands.

“You looked like you could use some company,” Pyrrha offers, unprompted and sweet.

“Also some water. That’s your third beer tonight,” Weiss butts in, equally as unprompted but far less sweet.

Blake relinquishes her drink with a sigh, pushing it away from her on the table. “I could use both, yes.”

Weiss pours her a glass, and she’s at least thankful for some amount of attention right now when it seems the rest of her friends are all so enraptured by the game currently playing out between Yang and that all-too-attractive stranger.

Weiss and Pyrrha slide in beside her on the bench, Weiss immediately curling into Pyrrha’s side as her girlfriend drapes her arm around her. “Not a fan of billiards, I see.”

“Cat’s out of the bag. I hate it.” Blake’s eyes never leave the crowd, never leave Yang.

Pyrrha nods in understanding, but Weiss keeps a close eye on Blake for a moment, her mouth stretched into a disbelieving frown that very quickly dawns into an expression of realisation.

“Oh, I get it! _You’re_ jealous!” Weiss accuses, to which Blake recoils like she’s touched fire.

“What? What are you talking about, Weiss?”

Weiss’ lip curls into a sly grin and she turns smartly towards the game. “I mean, we can _all_ see that that woman she’s playing with is laying the banter on a little bit thick. Plus, you can’t play pool, and instead of being around Yang, you’re here, three beers bitter.” Then, she adds quickly: “Also, I’ve seen your jealous look. Dead giveaway, Blake.”

Blake slumps back in her seat, sighing in defeat. She didn’t want to admit it was actual jealousy plaguing her right now. She trusts Yang with her _life_ , and that includes trusting Yang with things that don’t involve her while still being faithful. And jealousy and her don’t exactly have the best track record, frankly, so she’d dread making Yang be the subject of hers when she knows all too well how it feels at its worst.

But it’s harmless right now, until it’s not. It’s harmless, until ‘sexy mystery woman’ brushes Yang’s arm a certain way while passing behind her or bends forward just enough to show off. It’s harmless until Yang’s blushing red at these flirts and wondering when Blake will be bold enough to try this-- _if_ Blake will be bold enough to try this.

(She can hardly play pool, how can she be good enough to pull that kind of thing off?)

“Blake,” Pyrrha begins gently, “you’re not a bad person for being a little bit jealous.”

Blake crosses her arms in front of her. “It’s an ugly emotion, Pyrrha.”

Weiss leans toward Blake and puts an emphatic hand on her shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about, Blake. Really. Yang would be a real _dunce_ to give you up.” For emphasis, she gestures up and down Blake’s body, which causes Blake’s cheeks to flash pink for a moment. Weiss inhales sharply and straightens her back. “I mean it. You’re a smokeshow. _Way_ hotter than that Vogue wannabe, at least.”

Blake nods, emboldened by the words stoking a confident fire in her chest. Before she even knows it, she’s on her feet and swaying her hips with every step and her shoulders are back and she’s moving towards the pool table with the confidence of a woman who is _definitely_ bold enough to try this.

“Blake?” Pyrrha calls after her. “Where are you going?”

“To be bold,” Blake calls back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Blake shrugs and peers over her shoulder. “We’ll see!”

She turns her head forward and is quickly among the crowd, then quickly at the front just in time to see Yang sink her final ball.

Yang rears back, shaking her hair out confidently and smiling proudly at her opponent. “Better luck next time, Coco,” she says jovially.

Fortunately, Yang’s playing with a good sport, and the woman comes over to shake her hand while wearing an obnoxiously clever smile. “Keep the luck. You’ll need it for the next round.”

“Actually,” Blake pipes up, strutting out of the crowd, “I’d like to face the champion, if that’s alright.”

Yang’s eyes snap to Blake in surprise, and she’s barely able to catch a glint of confusion in her expression before her smile softens. “I thought you hated pool, babe.”

“I’m not normally a fan, but you make it look so easy,” Blake retorts, taking the cue from Yang’s previous opponent and coming up to the table. Then, with a wink, a smirk, and a low voice she _knows_ drives Yang wild: “And fun.”

Yang’s cheeks burn red, and it takes her a moment to shift her attention back to the game. “Alright, but don’t complain when I kick your butt.”

Blake shrugs. “Be a good sport and we’ll see.”

The crowd murmurs amongst themselves as Blake helps Yang set up the table, being extra careful to brush her hand against Yang’s any chance she gets to, just to see how she shudders at the contact. She does her best to bend over the table in very specific ways (of course, mostly when Yang’s looking), makes sure she’s looking up through her eyelashes on occasion, and it’s certainly enough to keep Yang’s attention until the table’s set.

“Kick her butt, Blake!” a voice, one she recognizes as Ruby’s, calls from the crowd.

“That’s the plan!” she shoots back with a thumbs up and a coy wink to Yang. “Do you wanna break?”

Yang swallows hard and brings her hand behind her neck just under her mane of golden hair. “I mean, if you want me to.”

Blake nods to her, and Yang gets in position to break, aiming with pinpoint accuracy that’s only barely broken by the way her eyes keep darting to Blake.

Under the groggy light of the diner’s lounge, the game unfolds with an air of smoke and heat. Blake’s certainly no expert at pool, having only played once or twice at parties, but she doesn’t need to be. She’s more than willing to let Yang flex her skills for her, so long as she keeps leaning across the table just a bit too far to strike the ball, or brush close behind Yang when they change positions just long enough to whisper a tease or a comment in her ear; the reward of flustering Yang, seducing her with the confidence she has, is certainly better than actually winning.

She continues to scan the crowd, her eyes occasionally darting to the woman Yang had been playing against before and casually lifting an eyebrow her way when she catches her staring intently at the otherwise mediocre but extremely charged game playing out right now.

When Yang wins, it isn’t with a whoop or a grin or a cheer, but with a heavy, hot exhale as she leans against the pool table.

Blake comes over to her side and giggles next to her. “Good game, babe.”

Yang chuckles and pulls herself up, bringing herself _very_ close to Blake; her warm breath graces her lips before she speaks. “You were doing that on purpose, weren’t you?”

“Caught red-handed,” Blake admits, her voice faltering simultaneously between confident and nervous.

“Do it more often,” Yang says, pulling Blake closer by the waist and holding her forehead against hers. “Hottest game I’ve played in my life.”

“I’m so glad you’re not a sore winner,” Blake murmurs jokingly.

Yang pulls closer. “Well, a sore winner wouldn’t get to kiss her girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?”

Yang and Blake both turn to the voice, seeing Yang’s previous opponent leaning against a stool with a far-too-cocky smile stretching across her face. Blake has to keep herself from audibly groaning, instead letting her eyes dart to Yang for ground to keep her steady.

However, the woman still approaches and crosses her arms. “That explains a lot. That was a pretty hot game, you two.”

“Uh...thanks?” Yang says.

“I’m really not much of a pool person,” Blake admits, to which the woman scoffs.

“Who cares, pool or not, that was way better than watching the regulars go at it.” She pauses, brings her fingers to her chin, before turning to the bar. “Let me buy you two some drinks. My girlfriend’s working the bar tonight, I’m sure she’d love to meet the woman who dethroned me.” She turns back to Blake and shoots her a deliberate wink from under her shades. “And her girlfriend, of course.”

Blake looks up at Yang with a sheepish smile and an intense blush. Yang smiles down at her and hooks her arm around Blake’s waist, turning to Coco with the confidence Blake loves so much in her.

“We’d love to meet her!”


	15. Heroics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/612721028056121344/random-dialogue-ideas-10) on my Tumblr "I can't reach it!"

“Did you get it?” Pyrrha whimpers from the corner of their hotel room, arms curled around her midsection in fear.

“Not yet, sweetie,” Weiss calls over her shoulder. Her hand is stretched above her head, holding a flip flop pointed at the giant spider currently taking up residence just above the headboard of their bed.

Pyrrha nods with another frightened whimper and presses herself against the wall, keeping herself as absolutely far away from the spider as she physically can. Weiss doesn’t like spiders, but Pyrrha’s _beyond_ terrified of them (seriously, Weiss thinks it might be the one and only thing her girlfriend is actually afraid of), so she, being the considerate, brave, girlfriend that she is, took it upon herself to be rid of the creature making Pyrrha upset herself.

The tricky part? The fact that the hotel ceiling is a lot higher than Weiss can reach on her own, even in the tallest heels she brought with her; the flip flop in her hand barely helps, either.

Still, she grimaces in determination at that wretched little beast spinning circles in its web above her, ready to do what it takes to get rid of it. She swats once, gusting air at it, which seems to do nothing. She huffs and tries again, to no avail. And when she gets a little frustrated at her lack of reach, she swings her makeshift weapon harder and faster and angrier.

“I! Can’t! Reach! It!” Weiss growls between every unsuccessful swing.

“Weiss, be careful!” Pyrrha calls out to her.

Weiss withdraws her hand; disappointed that her efforts have been completely fruitless. “I’m _trying_ my best here, Pyrrha!”

“And you’re wonderful for doing so!”

A slightly annoyed huff escapes her mouth, blowing a loose strand of hair from in front of her eyes. She’s not annoyed at Pyrrha--she doesn’t think she ever could be--but at her own failed heroics. Maybe she was a dolt to think that she could impress Pyrrha by killing a spider for her, but she was too caught up in the rush of bravery and being impressive enough for Pyrrha to regard her with those doe-eyes she always does when Weiss does something remarkable.

She looks over to Pyrrha, sees her still watching the situation unfold with baited breath, and decides it’s not fruitless just yet. She reaches down and unzips the sides of her boots before slipping them off and climbing onto the bed, arms outstretched for balance.

Weiss looks to Pyrrha with her best attempt at a confident smile. “I _will_ kill this spider.”

Pyrrha shoots her a small thumbs up. “Okay, thank you!”

Her attention turns back to her tiny nemesis, perched patiently above the bed, its multitude of eyes training on Weiss as she stares it down. She’s going to be Pyrrha’s hero, and she’s going to end this miserable little creature’s paltry existence with one fell stroke of her affordable but comfortable Myrtenaster sandal, and she’s going to make this hotel room safe for them once again.

“Alright, spider, prepare to meet your doom!” she tells it dramatically, raising her weapon for what feels like a vicious smite.

Instead, she just swats more air at it.

Weiss squints at the web in frustration, pouting at her apparent lack of ability to get rid of one tiny spider in their hotel room. Except, when she squints, she notices the web’s empty. The spider is gone. Maybe she has been victorious, after all.

She turns back to Pyrrha, her earlier confidence replaced by smugness. “Piece of cake,” she jests, though her expression falls when she sees the absolutely horror Pyrrha regards her with. She lifts a questioning eyebrow at her. “What?”

“Weiss,” Pyrrha barely murmurs, eyes wide and lips quivering, “I love you so, so much.”

“Pyrrha, what’s going on?”

Pyrrha’s answer comes in the form of a raised finger pointed at Weiss’ flip flop. Weiss freezes, suddenly aware of her own heart beating achingly against her chest, and her head slowly turns to the shoe in her hand and the little spider attached to it.

“Oh.”

* * *

By the time Blake and Yang return from the bar, Pyrrha and Weiss have been huddled together in their car for almost two hours, listening to Weiss’ calming playlist and eating some of Ruby’s stress snacks.

Blake’s the first to knock on the car window, and Weiss gives her a nervous glance before opening the door.

“Hey you two,” Blake greets with a confused smile. “How’s it going.”

“We’re great!” Weiss lies unconvincingly.

“Were you two making out?” Yang pipes in teasingly.

“A little bit earlier, yes,” Pyrrha says through a wide grin.

Yang grimaces and turns to Blake, whose expression is equally as lost. “Okay, so you guys are being weird. We’re gonna go to bed.”

“No, don’t!” Pyrrha and Weiss both reach out for Yang as if she’s about to head into a warzone.

“Why not?” Yang yelps.

“There’s a spider in there!”

“Huge!”

“Terrifying!”

“That _beast_ claimed my sandal!”

Yang and Blake pull back for a moment, confusion and shock swimming in their expressions, before Blake rolls her eyes with a bemused sigh and heads for the hotel room.

Weiss leans out of the car in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“To take care of this spider problem,” Blake calls back over her shoulder before swinging the door open.

Weiss, Pyrrha, and Yang watch on with baited breath, each in turn praying that Blake is brave and strong enough to deal with their newfound enemy. And if not? Weiss guesses the car is a comfortable enough place to sleep for one night.


	16. Confident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/612721028056121344/random-dialogue-ideas-10) on my Tumblr "Stop checking me out!" and also sort of a spiritual sequel to [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23536051)!

Velvet comes down from a spinning attack, a glowing Magnhild in hand, and smashes it down on the carapaced head of the last mole crab; with a resounding crunch and a shrill howl, the creature dies, and Velvet lands confidently on the sand in front of it.

Her back is arched and her shoulders are back. Her chin is held high and her eyes catch the glint of the sun. The slight desert breeze blows against the couple of loose strands of hair falling beside her cheeks, the rest of her hair tied in a messy bun above her head. Her lip tilts up into a cheeky but satisfied smile and she turns to Fox as her weapon vanishes from her hand into tiny Dust specks.

“Meat’s back on the menu!” she calls to her teammate, who rushes excitedly over from his and Yatsu’s kill to Velvet’s.

Coco stands back, setting her weapon down at her side to admire the confidence Velvet’s gained in the past couple of weeks. As much as she complains about the sand and the heat and the monsters crawling through the wasteland, Vacuo’s done a lot for Velvet (one look at her _extremely_ toned midriff is enough to prove it--though, Coco takes more than one look, of course).

She shifts her glasses up a little bit, just to get a better view without catching the sun. Velvet’s beyond gorgeous, and Coco’s completely head over heels in a way she’d never thought she could be until they came to the desert and grew close. It’d been an ache at first, an unfamiliar burn that she thought she knew but went much deeper, and one night of confessions and distraught fears overcome by deft fingers and hot kisses sealed the deal between them.

So of course she’s going to stare at her confident, ripped, badass girlfriend.

Velvet smiles down at Fox as he expertly begins tearing away at the crab, finding the meatiest pieces, before she turns her attention over to Coco; immediately, her cheeks flush red and her posture goes from ‘self-assured and way too sexy about it’ to ‘flustered and anxious and adorable about it’.

“Coco!”

Coco smirks. “What, Velv?”

“Stop checking me out!” Velvet protests lightly, going even redder and doing absolutely nothing to help avert Coco’s enamoured gaze.

“Who says that’s what I’m doing?” Coco teases. She hooks Gianduja back onto her belt and strides over to Velvet, dipping her sunglasses just enough for Velvet to catch her wink.

Velvet brings a nervous hand up to the back of her neck; even after being together for a couple of weeks, she’s still so shy when it comes to all this. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t ever been in a relationship before, Coco thinks, or maybe she’s still getting used to this new, confident version of herself. 

Either way, Coco slips a comforting hand onto Velvet’s shoulder and offers her a genuine smile. Playful as she might be, she also knows Velvet’s boundaries and wants her to be comfortable with herself, to take things at her pace. They’ve been playful before, but Coco knows it comes and goes with her, and she won’t keep teasing her unless Velvet starts it.

Velvet’s hand drops back to her side and she leans into Coco’s touch with a small, sincere smile of her own that quickly turns lopsided and clever, her confidence returning to her with a slight blush. “You really should know better, Coco,” Velvet teases in a low voice, starting their banter up again.

“What? I can’t look at my girlfriend when she’s just too damn gorgeous to keep my eyes off of?”

“Not when we’re on a mission, Coco!” Velvet tells her with a slight snort of a laugh, playfully nudging the hand on her shoulder. “Professor Furie would be _pissed_ if she caught you getting distracted.”

“Right, got it, honey! This is _definitely_ about Rosa!” Coco shoots back as she pulls Velvet into her side, sliding her arm around her shoulders.

“You two aren’t very subtle,” Yatsu calls from where his mole crab has been fully dismembered, the best parts in a rucksack on his back.

Fox looks over his shoulder in Yatsu’s direction. “ _Yatsu, this is Coco you’re talking about. Subtle isn’t in her vocabulary,_ ” he says to them all in their heads; the tone of his telepathic voice clearly tells Coco he’s messing with her.

“I can be subtle, boys,” Coco tells them. “What I’m doing right now is subtle.”

“ _Sure, let’s call it that._ ”

Coco huffs out an annoyed breath and tilts her head down to cast a scrutinizing glare at Yatsu, who raises his hands defensively. 

“What did I do?” Yatsu says flatly.

“You started this, Yatsu,” Coco replies quickly, part accusation and part tease.

She feels Velvet’s lips press against her cheek in a chaste kiss. “Actually, you started it, love.”

Yatsu points at Velvet with a quick nod, Fox looks up at them and presses his lips together cleverly, and Coco’s mouth hangs open for a quick moment dramatically, feigning shock.

“Betrayed by my own girl!” she gasps.

Velvet smiles innocently at her and goes in for another cheek kiss. “You’re the one who keeps saying I’ve gotten confident, now suffer the consequences!”

She plants a second kiss, a third kiss, and a fourth for good measure as Coco blushes wildly at Velvet’s ‘consequences’, laughing and smiling and absolutely in love with her. Before Velvet can go for a fifth, Coco turns the tables on her, easily turning Velvet to face her and bringing her hand up behind her head to bring her in for a more tender kiss on the lips, which Velvet immediately melts into.

They stay like the for a moment until Fox’s voice fills their heads. “ _Hey, I’m hungry! Let’s get back to camp!_ ”

Reluctantly, Coco pulls away and smiles at the blush of ecstasy gracing Velvet’s cheeks, her eyes remaining closed for a moment before fluttering open. Velvet breathes out a soft exhale before turning away bashfully to face Yatsu and Fox. 

“So, uh, we got enough for everyone?” she asks.

Yatsu nods, adjusting the bag on his back. “And some to spare.”

“Perfect,” Coco notes. “Let’s get moving, then! I’m hungry, too.”

“ _We all know what you’re hungry for._ ” Fox looks up at Coco with a smirk as he rises to his feet.

Coco rolls her eyes and delivers a light slap to his shoulder. “Can it, Alistair, or I’ll spill the beans about you and Scarlet.”

“Wait, Fox and Scarlet?” Velvet leans into Coco’s side as they begin the march back to their camp. “Oh, please spill!”

“No, don’t spill!” Fox calls out loud to Coco, slipping his bag over his shoulder and jogging to catch up.

“No, _do_ spill!” Yatsu joins in, prompting Coco to chuckle.

The march back is taken up by protests from Fox that quickly fade to cheers and laughs and smiles between them; halfway through the walk, Coco finds Velvet’s fingers lacing between hers, and she pulls her close, letting Velvet rest her head on her shoulder and smiling at how far they’ve all managed to come together.

The desert’s not all bad, she thinks. After all, it did bring Velvet and her together, and she couldn’t be any prouder of the confident woman Velvet’s become. 

The confident, loving, gorgeous woman she’s fallen head over heels for, and Coco wouldn’t have it any other way.


	17. am I allowed (to look at her like that)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/612721028056121344/random-dialogue-ideas-10) on my Tumblr "Stop staring at him!"

Few things annoyed Weiss as much as having to watch Pyrrha fawn over Jaune Arc almost every day.

To be fair, there were _plenty_ of things that annoyed Weiss, but with burgeoning feelings of affection and admiration towards Pyrrha that every day would run even deeper than her initial attraction, this was something that really tested her patience and her heart. 

She sat in the library, her mind far too unfocused to be studying for her quiz tomorrow afternoon; her eyes remained fixed on Pyrrha’s expression, her lips pulled into a gentle, subdued smile as she watched Jaune hastily scribbling notes into his notebook and scanning a textbook beside him.

Truly, how Pyrrha could ever be attracted to such a buffoon as him, Weiss would never understand. It couldn’t be his looks (there were _plenty_ more attractive boys at Beacon), and it couldn’t be his combat prowess (there’d be really nothing to be attracted to if that were the case), and the more she tried to pick it apart the more she found herself frustrated at the way her gaze softened while watching him.

“Stop _staring_ at him!” she grumbled under her breath, more to herself than to Pyrrha, as much as she wished she could voice such a selfish request.

“Someone’s got a case of gay pining,” whispered a voice beside her, and the strange mix of sympathy and teasing clued her in to who was addressing her.

She rolled her eyes and peeled her gaze away from the object of her affection. “Like you’re doing any better, Yang.”

Yang stifled a chuckle into her sleeve, prompting Weiss to roll her eyes again. Yang certainly couldn’t be one to talk, not when she spent practically all of her free time pining after Blake with the subtlety of...of...well, with absolutely zero subtlety to speak of.

“Got me there,” Yang retorted confidently. Then, her expression shifted to warmth, comfort, understanding. “It’s because he sees _her_ , Weiss.”

Weiss just _had_ to scoff at that. “I see her, Yang. I see her all the time!”

Yang pursed her lips and diverted her attention to Pyrrha, prompting Weiss to do the same with a quick lift of her eyebrows. “Alright, Ice Queen. What do you see?”

Weiss looked over at Pyrrha; she was still watching Jaune take notes, though had taken a bit more of an active role in her study session with Jaune by helping him with something he’d clearly become a little confused about.

“I see an idiot who’s going to fail his quiz tomorrow,” Weiss said with snark lacing her voice.

“Said the idiot who’s too busy yearning to focus on her own studying.” Weiss immediately snapped her attention to Yang and furrowed her brows at her; Yang simply shrugged cheekily.

“What do you want from me, Yang? Are you just trying to prove something?” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms in front of her with an exasperated huff. “Or do you just like seeing me suffer because my feelings for her are so clearly futile?”

They were easy enough words to _say_ ; she knew her feelings were futile, that there was no chance she’d get to act on them, and even if she did they’d be completely unreciprocated. Weiss was no stranger to harsh realities, she’d spent enough years having dream after dream shattered like a fragile mirror, and she’d spent even more time staring at her reflection in the shards wondering if it was even worth it to bother having fantasies anymore.

Oftentimes, it was _far_ easier to accept harsh realities than to get hung up on fantasies, so why did she even let herself become so enraptured in this one?

“Everyone gets jealous, Weiss,” Yang commented, placing a comforting hand on Weiss’ shoulder. “You’re not a bad person for feeling that way.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“And I’m straight as uncooked spaghetti.” Yang’s expression remained neutral despite the blatantly contradictory statement until her features softened again. “I’ve been jealous before, Weiss. Everyone has.”

Weiss sighed heavily, regretfully, readying herself to bare her feelings to Yang. “You know, sometimes, I would get whatever I wanted, if I asked politely enough and was a perfectly well-mannered child. I guess you could say I was spoiled.

“But I also had to work _extremely_ hard for a lot of things. My powers and skills didn’t come right away. I had to fight to be allowed to train with them, and I had to fight very hard to even be permitted to attend Beacon.” A sharp ghost of steel shot up through the split skin over her left cheek and eye, leaving her with icy pain for the briefest of moments. She shivered against the feeling, settling her mind again on her thoughts that seemed just as disjointed and ugly and frightening as that shattered reflection reminding her not to dream. “It’s about time I didn’t get something I wanted, I guess.”

“Don’t look at it that way, Weiss,” Yang pleaded softly.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Her chest flared with a spark of flame, hot against her otherwise frigid body.

Yang’s gaze dropped to her lap, her expression shifting from supportive and steadfast to forlorn and crestfallen. “Clearly, Pyrrha likes Jaune. You can’t change that, no matter how hard you work or how polite you are. But she can still be in your life. You can still have her in your life.If you really like her, her feelings for Jaune shouldn’t cut you off from that.”

“I...” Weiss sighed and leaned forward against the desk. Her eyes darted back up to Pyrrha for the briefest of moments, and then away down to her studies. “I don’t know how to do that, Yang. She’s Pyrrha Nikos! I’m just the spoiled heiress to the SDC, and apparently not great at first impressions, either.”

“Well,” Yang began, some semblance of warmth returning to her voice, “you also do have a test tomorrow that you’ve hardly studied for.” Yang looked over at where Pyrrha and Jaune sat and she smiled. “Looks like they’re well into their studies. And there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, especially if it’s from a very hot friend!”

Weiss let herself smile, slight as it may have been, and nodded at her. “I suppose so.” Then, panic flashed in her mind and her chest, feeling suddenly constricted. “Wait, no! I can’t ask Pyrrha for help!”

But it was too late, and Yang was already marching towards them with a purpose that Weiss sincerely dreaded. Panic settled into her body as her shoulders sagged heavily, her elbows slide against the wood of the desk, and her forehead met the cold, plastic pages of her textbook; this could really not be happening.

“Weiss!” 

Reluctantly, Weiss lifted her eyes to see Yang waving at her. As was Jaune. And Pyrrha. Weiss’ cheeks immediately flashed pink as she raised her head. Pyrrha raised her hand with a beaming smile (oh, gods, she was absolutely adorable!) and gestured her over.

She picked up her books and utensils shakily and made her way over to the table, her knees pressed together and her shoulders rolled forward; how did she ever let herself get this bashful.

“Yang was just saying how you needed help with studying for tomorrow?” Jaune brought up, and Weiss wanted to abhor the sincerity in his voice; it proved difficult, and instead she elected to drop it.

“I, um...I guess I’m having a bit of an off day,” she told him as neutrally as she could manage.

“Well you’re certainly more than welcome to join us!” Pyrrha offered, gesturing to the open seat beside her and looking up at Weiss with a generous, sweet sparkle in her stunning jade eyes.

Weiss nodded, her throat suddenly far too soft to let out any words, as she took the seat offered to her and splayed her books in front of her. “So, uh, where should we begin?”

She knew where she wanted to begin, and she was right here with Pyrrha, smiling and studying with her. This was as good a place to start as any, and much better than staring bitterly from across the library wishing things were different.

At least now she’d be able to focus on studying for her test, to some degree, though she couldn’t promise herself she wouldn’t get distracted here and there.


	18. Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/625006731753373696/amourmemes-%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%8E-%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%87%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%96%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%8B%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%95%F0%9D%90%84) on my Tumblr "Stay. I need you more than you think." Just imagine this taking place during v8 or smth. (While we're here, absolutely read this while listening to[ this music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2U8U8vuvMFE)!)

“Do you ever think about what oblivion looks like?”

Yang stirs as Blake’s voice cuts through the quiet. She peels her eyes away from the window, at the apocalyptic carnage outside their hideout, and catches Blake’s gaze on the other side of the room. Her eyes hold a characteristic wisdom, something Yang’s grown used to looking at, something she’s grown to love, but it’s a wisdom clouded by fear now.

Yang shrugs and her eyes dip back to the window. “Don’t really have to think about much when it’s right outside.” She realises it’s probably a more dismal answer than Blake’s looking for, empty and defeated, but she’s tired and the world could be ending around them already. No use beating around the bush.

Blake shuffles and turns to look outside the window, too. “Right. Sorry.” She sighs, and for a moment Yang thinks maybe to append her statement with a clever joke or words of reassurance before Blake beats her to it. “I guess I always imagined it differently.”

Yang’s eyes narrow. “How do you mean?”

She’s sure she knows the answer, because she knows how she’d answer it if the question were asked of her. Yang’s seen the end, lived through the days of leaden limbs and palettes of greys where colour once swam. She knows how it feels when the sparks in her soul fizzle out, and she knows how it feels when you’re falling and have long since given up the futile attempt to glide to safety.

Still, she catches the glint in Blake’s eyes, and she gets the beginning of her answer. Blake stands, sleep pulling her feet down to the floor in heavy, unsure steps, and sits beside Yang on the uncomfortable mattress.

Again, she stays silent, but they’ve long since moved past the need for words. Conversations can’t always capture how heavy some of their thoughts and feelings are, nor how stormy and hectic. But they don’t need words, not always. Sometimes Blake lets her know with a touch, a gentle squeeze of her right hand when she wants Yang to know she’s with her. Sometimes, it’s a smile--once rare but always treasured--that Blake offers her to tell her she’s healing, _they’re_ healing.

And sometimes, in quiet moments on the edge of oblivion, it’s the way their eyes find each other, pulled into each others’ gazes like magnets. To Yang, she could have entire conversations about nothing, but even looking into Blake’s eyes for a second unravels her story to her; she’s endlessly glad that Blake bared her soul to her in the first place.

Yang doesn’t have to imagine oblivion. She’s seen it countless times before, countless ends to countless worlds, but they’re always reborn, always sparked back into existence the moment she looks into Blake’s eyes. It’s always just them, a new world born from oblivion, a world that’s so familiar and vast and beautiful. A world of gold, brilliant sunlight, and a world of stunning, full night.

The oblivion outside their window is just another in a long line of ends that won’t pull that apart.

Blake curls her fingers around Yang’s metal hand; she can feel the soft tremble of fear from Blake’s hands, and she takes her fingers between her own.

“We’ve survived worse,” Yang reassures her, taking her attention again and settling in the worlds coming to life in her eyes.

“I know,” Blake says solemnly, as if oblivion has any chance against them.

Yang squeezes her hand tighter, but softly nonetheless. “We’ll make it through this. I promise, Blake. We’ll find a way, and we’ll stop all of this.”

Blake stills for a moment, and then nods and slides closer to Yang. Their bodies are now flush together, the heat of Blake’s skin arising even through her clothes. She draws in close to Yang’s ear and brushes aside a lock of her hair, gently carding her fingers between each golden strand. It feels like worship, but the mournful kind, the kind that promises this is the last chance she’ll have to take Yang’s hair between her fingers, to find peace against her skin.

“We’ve made it through worse,” Blake says, barely above a whisper, her lips brushing against the shell of Yang’s ear, “so please make it through this, too.”

Yang swallows as if she’s taking in the weight of the words and the meaning behind them. They’ve been through worse, but oblivion is always dangerous and scary and unpredictable. Oblivion comes in many colours and shapes, and they’ve made it through the ones that dared to face them. She can only hope this one’s the same.

Blake pulls closer, resting her head against Yang’s shoulder. Yang’s heart hammers against her chest, and she’s sure Blake can pick up on it. Her fingers uncurl from Yang’s hair and move to her back, the tips of her fingers gliding along her spine and drawing her into a bold security where Yang can close her eyes and forget what the world outside threatens them with.

“Stay,” Blake implores as her hand finds purchase at the base of Yang’s scalp. “I need you more than you think.”

Stay.

Of all the words in the world, the impact of ‘stay’ forms a lump in Yang’s throat and pushes the air from her lungs. Stay is so many things, and right now it’s a promise between them. They’ve made promises before, and they’ve always kept their promises, so what’s one more in their story at the end of the world?

Yang’s fingers curl against Blake’s knee, her thumb stroking delicate circles as she finds her breath again. “I’ll stay if you do,” she dares, challenging oblivion more than Blake herself.

Blake nods, and a small sigh escapes her lips, brushing against the hot skin of Yang’s neck. “Thank you.”

There’s silence between them again, but Yang doesn’t need words to feel the immensity of this challenge, this promise. All she needs is Blake’s fingers between hers, their bodies pressed together as sleep finds them on the edge of the world, to know that things will be okay. The world is always reborn in gold and purple between them, and they’re not going anywhere.


	19. Happy

Sometimes, Blake stares in the mirror and wonders how she ever got lucky enough to make it this far.

For a long time, she didn’t expect much more from her life than constantly being on the run, desperately evading the memories of things she did. Of things _he_ did. She figured she’d grow tired eventually or he’d finally catch up to her, and then it’d be over then and there.

She never expected she’d be surrounded by a loving family and reflecting on just how fortunate and loved she is while putting on her makeup for the day.

Blake lifts the wand to her eye and draws the bristles through her eyelashes, focusing on not blinking or shaking or poking her eyeball out. Though she’s dexterous and well-practiced, this part of her morning routine is always a tiny _tiny_ stress to deal with (though she can at least be thankful that this is usually the hardest part of her day).

As she finishes working on her left eye, her ears twitches at the sound of heavy footfalls, and her eyes dart to the mirror to see who’s coming.

Yang stands at the bathroom doorway, arms crossed and smile bright. Blake suppresses a small flutter in her heart - her mornings are always a little brighter with Yang around - but smiles at her in the mirror.

“Morning, Yang,” Blake says as she leans forward to finish her makeup.

“Morning,” Yang says back, and even with just one word Blake feels the entire room light up.

Blake turns her attention back to her work, wordlessly applying her makeup and occasionally delivering darting glances in Yang’s direction. Yang stays where she is, contently smiling with that lovestruck look Blake’s come to grow so fond of.

Love had always been a strange thing for Blake Belladonna to understand. When she was younger, growing up on fairy tales of chivalry and fair maidens, Blake had thought of love as something epic and magical. That had been stripped away from her, and for years Blake thought love was difficult, dangerous, _torturous_ , and when she figured that out she swore off of it forever, cutting it from her life - and along with it, quiet acceptance of a joyless life.

She can’t blame herself for being so foolish. For years, he had managed to worm his way into her head with honeyed words and touches that were maybe just a little bit too sharp for her, but she had no other idea of what love could be. Of what love _should_ be.

When Blake met Yang Xiao Long, she finally understood what love was.

Love can magical.

Love can be difficult.

But, above all, Blake finds loving Yang to be the happiest part of her life.

She looks back at Yang and a smile ghosts across her lips; she loves how she can just look at Yang and be so happy, she loves how easy and natural her smile is when she even catches a glimpse of Yang smiling back at her.

“You, uh,” Yang stammers, shooting Blake a curious look, “you okay there, Blake?”

Blake blinks a few times, clearing the brilliant rays of sunshine from her mind’s eye and looks back at Yang. “Yeah, why?”

“I dunno, you were just staring at me.” Yang’s voice is laced with concern, and it’s only partly uprooted by the cocky smirk she wears. It’s so typical of Yang to mix tender care and sly jabs, but it’s so hard not to find that so endearing about her.

Blake shrugs easily and delivers a devilish smirk of her own. “I guess you’ve just got that kind of face I wanna stare at.”

A faint blush seeps into Yang’s cheeks and her hand finds its way to the back of her head, tangling in her golden mane. “Jeez, Blake, I haven’t even had my coffee yet!”

“You’re saying you need coffee before you’re able to flirt with me?”

Yang lets out a laugh - ringing, melodic, and in no way menacing or dark - before coming to meet Blake at the vanity mirror. Her hand curls around Blake’s waist as she leans closer to the mirror herself, examining herself as she plays with the tufts of her bangs. Blake settles into Yang’s hold and watches her preen herself, falling in love all over again with every freckle on her cheeks, every faint scar in her skin, every strand of golden sunlight caught in her hair.

She falls in love with how softly Yang holds her. Blake once had his hand curled around her like this, but it always felt like a prison, one with barbed fences and poisoned bars and a long, painful tunnel to futile escape. Now, she feels Yang’s body warm against her, a source of life and boundless energy, and she can’t help but smile again as that warmth spreads through her own body.

Yang smirks and winks at herself in the mirror and looks down at Blake, and immediately her expression becomes soft again.

“Like what you see?” she teases, but it’s sincere and beyond endearing.

Blake’s smile widens and she has to suppress a giggle so as to not embarrass herself. “Totally. I love how looking at you just makes me happy.”

Yang beams at that, and Blake swears her brilliance could outshine the sunniest of summer days. “I’m glad I make you happy, Blake!”

Blake settles closer against Yang, wrapping her fingers around Yang’s bicep in a way he would never allow, and she sees everything that love is supposed to be in that smile, feels everything she’s always wanted wrapped in Yang’s arms on a lazy morning in summer.

“You do make me happy.”

And what she really means is ‘I love you’.


	20. young, dumb, and full of repressed urges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freezerburn ficlet from[ this prompt list ](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/629300070008913920/hnryycvll-l-o-v-e-prompt-list-we-could-if-you): "We could, if you want."

Weiss falls back against her bed with a heavy _harumph_ that quickly pulls into a disheartened frown.

She can’t say for sure whether it’s the Vytal Festival having just begun or some other anomaly, but the atmosphere is beyond unbearable and incessantly randy. She can hardly turn a corner without seeing two faces smushed together in obnoxious passion or make it through an entire class period without catching dopey googly eyes between lovestruck idiots (she was so sure Reese and Neon would just ravage each other during training with some of the looks she’d caught).

It’d be quite remarkable if it weren’t so annoying.

Weiss doesn’t want to admit it, but ‘annoying’ in this context really only means ‘everyone else at Beacon is having the time of their lives while she’s stuck single and frustrated about it’.

Coming to Beacon, she’d been so sure about finding the love of her life, living out some stupid fantasy of denying her feelings only to yearn for the tender embrace of her beloved late at night, and yet the only ‘beloved’ she has right now is Pyrrha, and she’s so enraptured by Jaune that she can’t even see that Weiss is a perfectly viable candidate for her affection, too!

Honestly, the same could be said for every girl that’s stolen Weiss’ heart since arriving here. There have been so many failed attempts at finding a girl who’ll actually like her for her instead of turning her and every red flag attached to her label down, and in the one instance someone did show interest in Weiss, she left her heart on the floor of her room and chased after another girl barely two days later. (Seriously, what Velvet sees in Coco Adel, Weiss is now even less sure of.)

She turns over in her bed, facing the wall as her knees pull up to her stomach. Everyone has someone, and Weiss is so bitterly alone. Not even her teammates want to be around her (though it’s not like she’s been the friendliest teammate in the first few months of studying here).

“Moping on your own, too?” comes a voice from the doorway, and Weiss peers over her should, spotting Yang leaning against the doorframe; her trademark cocky smirk is muted and her eyes fall on Weiss with something other than mischief.

Weiss huffs and lets her head drop back to her pillow. “Not anymore, I suppose.”

“Was that an invite, or--”

“What do you want, Yang?” Weiss snaps, sitting up to meet Yang’s gaze, and her heart immediately sinks when she sees the way Yang’s expression falls. For every layer of ice she’s shielded herself behind, Weiss’ own flame is still untamed when it comes out.

Yang exhales and moves into the room silently, slumping down on Blake’s bed; Weiss barely notices the way her eyes dart quickly over to the pillow as her fingers curl against the sheets.

“Everyone being super hormonal got you down, too?” Yang asks, her lips twitching into a much more familiar smile.

Weiss roles her eyes, but can’t help but indulge her own smile. “Can’t help it. The Vytal Festival’s here, all these Huntsmen and Huntresses in training are showing off their moves--”

“And sexual tension is running at an all-time high,” Yang finishes with a full laugh, the kind of laugh that reminds Weiss of how brilliant Yang can be even in the glummest of moments and moods. She’s not sure if she really admires it, but it’s nice to be around for sure.

Weiss can’t help but indulge in her own laughter, either, and she surprises even herself with the volume at which it escapes her mouth. It’s maybe a bit unbecoming, but by now Weiss has learned enough about herself to at least find comfort in her own quirks.

“I suppose that’s one part of it, yes,” Weiss finally admits as she hooks her ankles together and puts her hands in her lap. “The rest of the parts are a bit more complicated, though.”

Yang nods in understanding. “Yearning got you good, too.”

Weiss’ eyebrows lift in agreement. “Hard to feel like you’re even worth it to the girl you like when she’s fawning over some boy who can’t tell left from right.” Then, as her head dips in shame, she adds: “Doesn’t help that the last girl I liked basically used me for the night and bailed.”

“We all warned you about Coco, Weiss.”

“Yes, well, now I know better than to go chasing after girls who _clearly_ don’t care about me,” Weiss says with a scoff.

Yang watches her, and again that look of concern comes into her features. In the time Weiss has known Yang, she’s come to understand her as a multifaceted woman: one moment, she’ll be boisterous, rambunctious, hotheaded to the point of great success or detriment, the next she’ll be coy, mischievous, coming up with clever remarks to mutter under her breath to get a boiling rise out of her friends.

And, in some quiet moments, she catches Yang’s tender softness and how she cares for those she loves. It’s often thankless and behind closed doors, but Weiss has seen it for herself a few times. The way Yang will comfort Blake during panic attacks, the way she’ll listen intently to Ruby as her sister reminisces and reflects, the way she’ll lay her jacket on the shoulders of friends who have long since fallen asleep in the library.

There are layers to Yang Xiao Long, Weiss notices, and some are easier to find endearing than others, but the ones she is endeared to she cherishes wholly.

“Do you care about me, Yang?” Weiss asks - it’s not a question she’s even thought about, but rather one summoned by circumstance and misery and a need for validation from one of the few remaining sources she’d trust.

Immediately, Yang almost looks offended, but before Weiss can retract her statement, Yang nods fervently. “Of course I care about you, Weiss! You’re one of my best friends!”

Weiss’ heart flutters at the sentiment as her lips pull at the corners. “Thank you, Yang. It’s good to know someone here does.”

Yang stands and moves quickly over to the desk, pulling the chair out from under it and placing it in front of Weiss before straddling it in a way that immediately makes Weiss’ heart skip a beat.

“And there are lots of other people who care about you,” Yang continues sweetly. “I know Ruby won’t shut up about how great she thinks you are, and you and Blake have been getting along so much better now, too! You have a family here, Weiss, and we all care about you so much. So who cares about stupid girls who don’t see how wonderful you are, because Team RWBY isn’t stupid, and we all see the most incredible, hard-working, beautiful woman we know on our team.”

Weiss’ heart continues to flutter with those words, and her mouth hangs open, speechless. With everything she’s said and done, she’d believe it if Yang said that the opposite were true, but there’s a sincere honesty behind each and every word that Weiss clings to desperately. Care and love are both things her life has kept so far from her, and it’s almost beautifully foreign to discover what they really feel like.

And it’s just as beautiful to get lost in the way Yang’s lips wrap around every syllable, or in the pure admiration and affection her lilac gaze holds. Maybe it’s just that Weiss has never experienced real love, but she’s almost certain that she could see herself falling for Yang just as easily as blinking. It wouldn’t be hard: there’s much to admire about her, and for once there’s a stunningly beautiful girl here, saying she cares about her and loves her.

It’d be foolish _not_ to start crushing on her a _little bit_ , Weiss reasons.

“Would you kiss me?” Weiss asks, innocent and sudden, and when the words leave her mouth thoughtlessly she wants to sink back in on herself, shielded behind layers of ice too thick to breach.

Yang blinks slowly, her eyes darting down to Weiss’ lips for the briefest of seconds before looking back up. Her gaze doesn’t hold the desire Weiss would expect, but she’ll take rich sincerity any day.

“We could, if you want,” Yang murmurs.

Weiss wants to, and in this moment she even almost wants to do it right now, but there’s a hesitance to Yang that she doesn’t want to take advantage of.

“Do _you_ want to?”

Yang leans forward in her chair, and her answer is a quick, chaste kiss planted on Weiss’ lips that causes every part of Weiss’ body to flare with heat and jolt with excitement. She tries to mask it even further with a cold front, but she can already feel the tingling of a blush in her cheeks and the galloping of her heart like a racing steed.

Yang pulls back with a wide smile. “How was that?”

“How was--Yang!” Weiss exclaims, extremely red and entirely flustered.

“You said you wanted to kiss!” Yang shoots back with the smallest air of mischief to her voice, and Weiss wishes it were obnoxious instead of attractive.

“I asked if you wanted to!”

“And I did want to. Plus, you asked first!” Yang laughs, easily and fully, and it’s enough to at least calm Weiss’ nerves a little bit. “I mean, if we close the door, we could probably kiss a bit more if you wanted to!”

Weiss takes a big, deep breath as she considers Yang’s proposition. Her days at Beacon have already been so strange, she supposes making out with a friend couldn’t be the strangest thing she’s done. And when her lips tingle and her cheeks burn and her heart dances in her chest at the thought of someone she actually likes wanting to kiss her too, she can’t deny how she wants, either.

“Close it,” Weiss tells Yang. “Oh, and get the lock, too.”

Yang stands and delivers Weiss a quick, playful wink before heading over to the door, and even if it’s just for today, maybe Weiss can indulge in a bit of young, dumb fun.


	21. blast marks aren't meant for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumbleby week 2019.
> 
> Prompt: AU (Star Wars).

“You’re a Jedi?” Yang shouted over the ring of blaster fire in the cantina.

Blake turned to her briefly, lazily deflecting a blaster bolt with the crimson blade; it bounced away from her with a _pop!_ , finding itself in the wall on the other end of the room. “What gave it away?” Blake called back with a leer.

 _Great thing to find out in the middle of a skirmish,_ Yang cursed as she ducked in time to avoid having her head blasted off. She holstered one of her pistols and snapped her fingers towards EC-2, the golden droid whirring and beeping frantically as it sped towards her. Her fingers dug into the pouch on her vest and dug around through old blaster cartridges and empty credit sticks before finally—

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, slipping the data stick out and handing it to her companion. “Get this back to the ship and prep it for launch!” The droid beeped confidently and slid back, making its way through smashed glass and frenzied patrons.

Yang readied her blaster again; there were so many of Junior’s goons that escape would absolutely mean drawing this shootout just a little longer, but it was either that or wind up in some Corellian gutter with blaster pocks in her back.

Through the chaos, her eyes darted briefly to Blake, watching her deftly evade fire with incredible speed and precise movements, her lightsaber whirring through the air like a song in the middle of a battlefield.

Yang had heard tales of the Jedi—after all, her father would never shut up about how incredible her mother had been!—but had never expected that in her wild, hectic, dangerous life she’d actually get to see one in action, thanks in no small part to the Great Jedi Purge nearly 20 years ago. She could have never anticipated the grace with which Blake fought, dancing around her foes as if walking on air, nor could she have ever anticipated the agility and intent behind every swing of her blade, more precise than any blaster could ever fire.

If the Force could do _anything_ , like Tai had always said, surely it must have clued Blake into the fact that Yang was staring. A quick glance seemed to alert her to the smuggler sitting against the bar, her eyes wide and jaw hanging, and a roll of her eyes stirred Yang back into action.

“I’ve sent the coordinates over to Bumblebee!” Yang called to Blake as she ducked for cover behind an overturned table. “We should get to her quick before Junior blasts us into oblivion!”

An incredulous look flashed across the Jedi’s face. “You named your droid Bumblebee?”

“I named by droid EC-2! Bumblebee is my ship.”

If Blake’s incredulous look hadn’t been enough (which it most certainly was), the smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips definitely flushed some red into Yang’s cheeks. She chuckled lightly—far too cute a sound for such an incredible warrior, Yang supposed. “You sure are one of a kind, Miss…”

“Xiao Long! Yang Xiao Long!” As if to emphasize her name like it carried some immense, legendary weight, Yang sprung up from the table and fired two shots out over Blake’s shoulders; they impacted heavily into the shoulders of a particularly large Trandoshan. She pulled one of her pistols close as the smoke hovered around the rim of the barrel, delivering a coy wink to Blake. “And if you think I’m one of a kind, you must've met a lot of smugglers.”

Blake huffed, but Yang could see her annoyance was feigned. “Not ones I’ve liked,” she teased.

Another one of Junior’s goons charged towards them clumsily. Blake raised her weapon in an arc over her head, slicing through the goon’s weapon with such ease and indifference. Yang could see that the tables were certainly turning, but she’d taken risks before, and not all of them had paid off—the metal grafted to her skin just above the elbow was a haunting reminder of her overconfidence.

She’d waited far too long, made far too many deals and raised far too many debts to get this far in her mission. Bumblebee was certainly bound to be ready for departure, and with the coordinates to where her mother was supposed to be now finally in her grasp, she knew she couldn’t stay much longer. Even if she did have a Jedi now on her side, of course.

Blake avoided another quick attack, and Yang followed up by taking out her assailant with an easy shot from her blaster. “Well, sweetheart, I’m sure you’re gonna find me to your liking, but I think it’s time we high-tailed it out of here!”

Blake nodded. “I agree. Is your ship ready?”

Yang shrugged. “If it isn’t, you better be okay with hanging around a warzone just a little longer!”

“I think I can manage that,” Blake retorted with a wink of her own, and suddenly the heat of blaster fire was really burning Yang’s cheeks.

Unable to muster up any quick remarks, Yang simply fired off a few quick shots to cover her escape. She dove over the table that had been acting as cover during the skirmish, muttering some choice words to herself as she landed in the glass shards left behind by the now-absent patrons.

“Up!” Blake shouted as she moved to stand over her, deflecting a flurry of bolts.

Yang obliged, quickly picking herself up from the floor—there would be time to inspect those wounds later—and fired off a few quick shots from behind Blake, narrowly missing the dark cowl hanging below her shoulders. She was quick to turn on her heel and sprint towards the door, ducking to avoid the blasts whizzing past her head and pushing back the urge to scream against the stinging pain from the glass.

The whir of a lightsaber told Yang that Blake was still with her, still following her, and Yang had long given up on wondering why she had decided to join her. As long as she had a skilled and admittedly beyond gorgeous warrior with a laser sword watching her back, Yang wouldn’t really complain.

They made their way through the doors and into the dank streets of Corellia, the pungent aroma of fish delivering the most disgusting of gut-punches to whatever appetite she may have had left after the fight, but the two pressed on. From inside, Yang was sure she could hear Junior’s obnoxious voice screaming curses after them, clearly having recovered from the blast to the back Blake had delivered (Yang only partially wanted to go back in there and finish the job, but knew it would only slow them down).

Just as she had expected, EC-2 stood at the base of Bumblebee’s ramp. Blake’s eyes went wide as she took in the ship, an amused smirk forming on her lips, but Yang put a quick stop to that despite how much she liked the look of a smile on Blake’s face.

“I know it’s ridiculous, but we gotta go!” she shouted as she nudged the Jedi into the ship, EC-2 following close behind with frantic beeps.

Blast impacts rocked the hull of the ship and bounced off of the heavy glass of the cockpit, but Yang had grown used to quick getaways like this. It was all a matter of flipping the right switches, calculating the right route, and ignoring the damage being done to her ship no matter how loud or explosive it got.

As she flicked the final switch and took the yoke between her hands, Yang felt the familiar rumble of Bumblebee under her feet and smirked. “Buckle up, Blake. This is gonna be wild!”

The engines roared to life, the deep sound a source of reassurance as Yang pulled up off of the landing strip, still ignoring each blast that left its mark on her ship. She quickly puled away from the remaining goons and up through Corellia’s industrial buildings, narrowly avoiding collision with support beams and cargo ships moving back and forth between sites, and when she was all clear, pulled forward ahead into the planet’s orbit, the final bit of adrenaline flushing from her veins.


	22. Parenthood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bumbleby week 2019.
> 
> Prompt: Meet the Parents.

“You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re covered in sweat,” Blake purrs from the apartment dining room, her eyes scanning Yang’s glistening skin as she pulls a tray from out of the oven.

Yang offers her a teasing chuckle—one she finds all the more enticing with her girlfriend in this state—and closes the oven door, sliding her metal hand through her bangs. “You’re gross, babe.”

“And you’re hot.”

“And you’re—” Yang strides over and takes hold of Blake’s hand (goodness her hand is so cool against her skin) before guiding it back to the stack of plates, half of which have been placed on dining mats on the table. “—distracted.”

Blake presses her lips together and continues setting the dinner table; she can’t say she dislikes when Yang acts responsibly, and might even put it in her ‘top five reasons to love Yang Xiao Long’, but she can tell Yang’s a little nervous. It’s probably the way she pays extra attention to the plates and cutlery, occasionally grabbing a piece from the table, running it under the sink, and then putting it back on the table. It might also be the way she playfully chases Blake out of the kitchen where normally she wouldn’t mind the company while cooking.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” Blake tells Yang easily, comfortingly. “My parents already love you so much.”

Yang shrugs as she returns to the cutting board in the kitchen. “Me? No, Yang Xiao Long doesn’t get nervous.”

“Well, ‘Yang Xiao Long’ only talks in third person when she’s nervous.” Blake sets another plate down and, to appease Yang’s extra attention to detail tonight, checks for any unwashed spots. 

A sigh escapes Yang’s lips; there’s no hiding the truth from Blake, not when they so rarely keep secrets from each other. She puts down the knife beside the half-chopped carrot and turns to Blake with a clearly anxious smile. “I know they love me. All parents do!”

“Jacques Schnee might have something to say about that.”

“Jacques Schnee should never get to say anything ever,” Yang sneers playfully, causing Blake to snort as she covers her mouth with her palm. Still, the joke isn’t enough to ease Yang’s tense expression. “It’s Tai I’m worried about.”

Blake purses her lips, Yang’s anxiety now spreading to her as she feels her chest constrict. “Do…do you think your dad won’t like me?”

Yang seems to understand her mistake and immediately raises her hands defensively. “No, no, nothing like that! He’ll probably love you! I think he already does with everything I’ve told him!” She steps away from the cutting board for a moment, her steps light and careful. “But your parents…might find him a bit much.”

Again, Blake has to laugh, though this time she tries to stifle it with a turn of her head (it’s not subtle, and when she turns back to Yang she’s sporting a frown that makes her fall harder). “Sorry,” she offers and takes Yang’s hand in her own, stroking her thumb along the smooth metal. “I don’t see how they could hate the father of the woman I love. Unless he were a jackass.”

It’s immediate, almost reactionary, the way Yang is pulled in by Blake’s words. Her lips loosen at the corners and her shoulders sink into a slightly more relaxed position; the way she holds Blake’s hand, delicate and careful, is what finally eases her into a softer state.

“Yeah,” Yang murmurs, pulling Blake’s hand closer. “Yeah, you’re right. My dad’s pretty great. I think you’ll like him.”

“You know we can’t wait to meet him,” Blake replies tenderly. Her eyes dart between Yang’s momentarily before finding comfort in her gaze, and a smirk breaks across her lips. “Now go and finish your salad, master chef!”

Yang chuckles and brings Blake’s hand to her lips, placing a gentle kiss to her thumb before they reluctantly break their contact. “Aye-aye, ma’am!”

Blake smiles as she watches Yang head back to the kitchen, her chest light and her gaze tender. It’s not often Yang gets nervous like this; usually she’s so ecstatic about introducing new things from her own life into Blake’s (even though, _especially_ in the case of corny horror films and heavy rock music and late late night trips to the beach to skinnydip, she’s not always a fan of these ‘new things’).

Yang is an open book, always has been. The way Blake can read every quirk of her lips or every quick glance as ‘I love you’s and ‘let’s do something fun’s and ‘I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you’s is what’s allowed her to be so open in return, and is what’s allowed them so much unbridled trust. Yang being able to trust Blake with her insecurities—being able to _talk_ about the nervous thoughts racing in her mind—is one of the other reasons Blake is so in love with Yang.

She notices the way Yang’s hands press maybe a bit too firmly into the counter before she readies the salad, thinks maybe she’s still nervous, thinks maybe there’s something else on her mind, but the buzzing in her back pocket alerts her to a different situation.

“Hello?”

 _“Oh, Blake, honey!”_ It’s her mom, and she sounds ever so slightly distressed. _“I’m just calling to let you know your father and I are running a few minutes behind. Something happened with the car and we’re just figuring it out.”_

Blake swallows back her own anxieties. “Are you two okay?”

 _“Oh, we’re fine! This nice gentleman stopped by on the road to help us out, so it shouldn’t take long.”_ Then, with the sass that only Kali Belladonna could muster: _“You know your own father is absolutely pathetic with vehicles.”_

“Right,” Blake says with a roll of her eyes. “How long do you think you’ll be?”

There’s a pause followed by indistinct murmuring on the other end. Blake taps the side of her scroll with her nails while she waits, drawing Yang’s attention. Her eyebrow goes up inquisitively and she mouths ‘who is it?’, to which Blake mouths back ‘my parents, they’re late’.

_“Blakey? Are you still there, honey?”_

“Yeah, still here, mom.”

 _“Good! The man says about twenty-ish minutes? Hopefully that’s not an inconvenience to you?”_ Kali says in the overly polite way that means _‘we know it’s inconvenient but it can’t be helped’._

“Not at all!” Blake replies politely, turning to Yang with the opposite expression on her face. Yang smiles cheekily—reason number three to love her—and points to the oven while mouthing ‘I could use twenty more minutes!’, to which Blake nods. “It should give Yang time to finish dinner.”

 _“Excelllent!”_ Kali cheers. _“Sorry, honey, we’ll be as quick as possible! Tell Yang that Ghira and I are excited for dinner! See you soon, honey!”_

“Bye, mom. Will do!” And with that, Blake sighs and places her scroll back into her pocket. “Well hopefully your dad isn’t late.”

Yang shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s alright, Blake. I could use the extra few minutes to destress, too,” as she stretches her arms in front of her, several noisy pops escaping between her knuckles. “Plus, knowing my dad, he’ll never forgive himself for being late!”

Ten minutes pass (Blake counts them down herself as she moves quickly around the apartment to tidy), and there’s no sign of Taiyang. While she tries to maintain a neutral expression at best, she can’t help but continue to glance at her scroll in frustration every few minutes.

Yang is no different, continuously drumming along her arm as her attention remains fixed on the door once her meal pieces are finally done (nothing fancy, but even preparing lasagna and salad tends to calm Yang down—and now both are finished and she only has her thoughts). 

Blake finishes tidying after twenty minutes (she’s still counting) and her attention snaps to the door, expecting the heavy knocks of her father; Yang’s eyes also remain fixed, though now she’s fidgeting with the hem of her skirt rather than her arm.

“Has he texted you?” Blake posits, hoping maybe to spark some hope in Yang. 

Instead, Yang shakes her head. “Sorry,” she mutters. “Kind of not the best first impression, right?”

“Yang, you don’t have to worry,” Blake marches over to her and places a comforting hand on her shoulder, stepping close for Yang to lean into her side. “I’m sure he has his—”

Their eyes light up when a rhythmic knocking sounds from the doorway, follow by muffled laughter. Blake quickly moves over to the door and already she can hear the unmistakable roar of laughter that belongs to her father.

“They’re here!” Blake tells Yang, who immediately moves to her dishes. Blake turns the knob and puts on her best ‘family’ smile. “Hey!” she beams as she welcomes her parents and…well, she’s not sure, and it shows in the way her face falls for a moment.

Her mom and dad are standing in the hallway, Ghira holding a tray (probably desert), but his attention is briefly on another man standing beside them holding a bottle of wine. When he hears his daughter’s voice, however, Ghira stops and smiles warmly at her.

“Blake, hello!”

The man with the wine’s face lights up and he beams. “Blake! My gods, it’s so good to finally meet you!”

And that’s when Blake probably feels the stupidest she’s felt in her life. Still, she doesn’t let her momentary shock stop her from welcoming her guests into the apartment, first extending a hand to the man as she realises: “You must be Taiyang.”

“Please, call me Tai! Your parents already do!” he jokes as he takes her hand into his strong grip.

When Blake’s expression easily reads as confused, Kali steps beside her. “Tai here helped with the car, how funny is that?”

“Wait, my dad fixed your parents’ car?” Yang shouts, and immediately she’s beside Blake. Her eyes dart quickly from Ghira to Kali, then to her father. “That’s not good.”

“Hey, I’ve been taking classes! I think I’ve gotten pretty good at this whole ‘mechanics’ thing!” Tai says defensively.

Ghira chuckles again. “And it shows! Your father is quite the mechanic, I must say!”

Blake and Yang look between each other, confusion once more present in their expressions, before Blake finally steps aside. “Well, I’m glad you three have become acquainted,” she finally says. 

“Saves us from the small-talk for sure,” Yang mutters under her breath, receiving a light jab from Blake.

“Well,” begins Kali with a devilish grin, “who needs small-talk? Tai hasn’t finished telling us the story of your first haircut, Yang!”

Yang’s cheeks flush red in humiliation, and suddenly Blake can’t help but wear that same devilish grin. “Oh? Is it embarrassing?”

“You have _no_ idea, Blake! She wouldn’t stop crying for hours!” 

“Dad!” Yang moans. The landing erupts into laughter as Yang rolls her arms and stomps into the kitchen, though not before Blake can shoot her an amused glance.

“Oh, just wait until you hear the stories about Blake!” Ghira smiles as he hands the dessert to his daughter, Tai and Kali squeezing past to hang their coats. 

And suddenly, it’s Blake’s turn to flush red.

* * *

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Yang prods as she slides another plate into the dishwasher, though the tone in her voice might indicate how humiliating it was to have to sit through hours of her father’s stories about every single first in her life: her first haircut, her first bubble bath, her first day of school her first crush, her first everything!

Blake’s expression is not so subtle. “You think you got it bad? My mom had _photos_.”

Yang laughs soundly. “I know, they were adorable!”

“But did you have to ask if you could keep one?”

“Well,” Yang ponders aloud, “I think I kinda did. It’s just too cute!”

Blake frowns, and the sight of it is just one of the many reasons Yang Xiao Long loves Blake. She knows what comes next and braces herself for the inevitable laughter that follows:

“You’re on the couch tonight.”

Yang snickers, then bursts into laughter again; she knows it’s an empty threat, knows that they can’t spend a night away from each others’ embrace. “Sure thing, babe,” she jokes, closing the dishwasher with a satisfied _click_.

Blake’s eyes remain fixed in Yang’s gaze, and her frown persists for a moment until fading into a more pensive look. Yang cocks an eyebrow; Blake often gets pensive, often wonders and thinks and dreams, and of course she’s going to ask because she loves Blake’s thoughts and dreams—if not, they’re bad dreams and dark thoughts that Yang knows how to chase away.

She approaches her girlfriend thoughtfully and leans against the table beside her. “What’s up?”

There’s silence, not distraught or uncomfortable, but patient. Blake chews at her bottom lip for a moment—her usual signal for the beginning of an intimate talk—before her hands cross behind her back. 

“Do you think, maybe…” Her voice trails for a second, and Yang wants to catch it, wants to take hold of the thought lost to her anxiety; instead, she sits patiently, knowing Blake will continue when she’s found the words. “Maybe,” she continues softly, “we could not embarrass our own kids like that?”

Yang stops, her heart fluttering against her chest with the most intimate excitement. _Kids._ It’s for sure something she’s thought about in her own future, and hopefully in the future her and Blake have together. 

She reaches out and slides her fingers between Blake’s, curling around her knuckles with contained energy. She lets her excitement show on her face, and Blake mirrors it in her eyes. “When we have kids,” Yang admits, her voice low and gentle, “I can’t promise anything.”

Blake can’t hold back the scoff that quickly escapes her throat, but the look of endearment and the way she pulls Yang’s hand closer indicates a different reaction—another reason for Yang to love Blake.

“You’re going to be the _worst_ mom ever,” Blake jokes.

“And I’m gonna take so many embarrassing photos of them! And when they’re old and they have their own apartments, I’m gonna bring them with me and show their partners!” Yang continues, sliding closer to Blake with a sinister grin on her lips.

“We’re definitely not having kids, then,” Blake murmurs as she leans into Yang’s side. “I can’t put them through that.”

Yang laughs heartily, and Blake’s stern expression cracks to show her own gentle smile. Yang barely has to pull for Blake to fall into her embrace, and she places a soft kiss against the top of her head, taking in the faint smell of lavender as she rests her cheek against her hair.

“You have pretty amazing parents,” Yang admits as Blake brings her own arm up to rest against her own. “And I think you’re gonna be the best mom.”

Blake hums in agreement. “So will you.”


	23. Just One Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old fic from my Bumbleby 2019 ficlets; I never completed the week unfortunately so I'm just gonna put the ficlets here!
> 
> Prompt: Atlas Ball

Blake taps her foot idly along to the boisterous music coming from the stage. She can’t exactly say she’s the biggest fan of big bands—with their frantic pace and their obnoxious brass—but with the atmosphere of the night lifting around her, for once she thinks she might not hate them so much.

Part of that, of course, is getting to watch Yang.

She’d never really thought Yang was someone who could be so good at dancing; her only experience so far with that was a quick dance at the Vytal Festival ball that at the time and to this day she’d hoped would have last just a little longer (or forever). Yang was certainly a strong dancing partner, and Blake recalls the way she’d held Blake’s waist when they’d danced, her light but supportive touch a ghost on Blake’s skin.

Now, Yang’s taking up a fair amount of space on the dance floor—and just as much attention—as she swings Ruby into a practiced spin, her arm outstretched as her sister flies back into her hold with a goofy smile. Yang grins back (and gods does Blake love her _grin_ ) and flings Ruby outwards, leaning back on her heel as Ruby mirrors her. The two of them are so in-synch, and the amassed audience amazed by their display of dancing prowess.

Blake could watch Yang like this for hours, her eyes trailing the way her mane of golden hair flies around her, never losing its shape as it frames her beaming eyes and her wide, toothy grin. It’s been so long since Blake’s seen Yang smile, seen her have fun and enjoy herself, that watching her now is like watching Yang in her daydreams where there’s no shadows, no fear, only them—only Yang.

And she imagines dancing with Yang, that ghosting touch on her hip calling back to her memory when Yang held her, and she can still smell that faintest aroma of citrus from her wrist, still feel the gentle interlocking of their fingers that Blake anchored herself to, the one place she had always felt safe.

She’s stirred from her daydreaming by applause, and her eyes immediately dart to the circle of people now moving away from Yang and Ruby, the younger of the two locked in the crook of Yang’s elbow and her face as red as the dress she’s wearing. Yang is smiling as her hold on her sister tightens, ruffling her spiky hair in that way she always does when she’s proud. Blake is proud, too, and joins in the applause from her seat along the wall.

Of course, Blake would think her light but enthusiastic clapping would easily blend into the applause, but the moment her hands meet Yang’s eyes dart to her. Her grip loosens around Ruby’s neck, allowing the red to disappear from her cheeks and eyes, and she smiles warmly at Blake, who can swear her own cheeks burn for just a moment.

Yang finally lets Ruby free and moves through the dispersing crowd, who are now moving to form partnerships as the band comes back in with a slower song. Blake almost— _almost_ —recedes in her seat, but is instead pulled forward as Yang approaches, her steps soft on the marble flooring.

“Hey.” One word, but Yang manages to say it like an invitation. She stands in front of Blake, her arm at her side as her eyes scan her. 

Blake smiles an easy smile—everything is so easy with Yang—and leans forward more. “Trying to use that ‘saved dance’ you owe me?”

Yang chuckles warmly, musically, and takes a step forward. “I thought I’d already used it back at Beacon?” Then, her weight shifts onto one hip and Blake swallows back the immediate moan that forms in her throat. Yang adds with a wink: “Or are you just trying to get a free dance with me?”

“Well,” Blake begins, realising immediately she doesn’t know how to follow up other than to admit just how _much_ she wants to dance with Yang. She clutches the fabric of her pants, bunching them up in her fingers, searching for the words to say but every possible one bringing a deeper blush to her cheeks.

Metal finds its way between her fingers, and Blake is thankful for the momentary relief from the heat spreading through her skin. Her eyes turn to Yang, who is now sitting beside her; they’d seen each other before the ball began, and to say Yang’s appearance had set off the most exciting of panics in her chest wouldn’t be false. Her dress was just the right amount of gilded elegance to blend in with the other young women of Atlas’ higher society, and yet with the faint pattern of fire stretching from the hem of the skirt to her waist and the very bold, low neck of the gown, it was so characteristically her. 

Blake had been completely unable to pry her eyes away then, and now, with Yang sitting right next to her, the shine of orange still bold on her eyelids and the shine of purple earrings under the hall’s lights, Blake is still unable to stop staring.

Their fingers squeeze closer together, and the heavy thumping of her heart and heat of blush in her cheeks subsides. Yang offers her a gentle smile. “Or we could just stay here. Whatever you want.”

Blake nods, her fingers curling inwards as the final bit of blush leaves her skin. “I want to dance with you.”

Yang smiles, gentle and pleased, and stands from her seat; Blake follows her lead as Yang walks them to an empty part of the ballroom floor, pulling Blake into a slow sway as her hand finds its way to her waist. Her breath stills at the contact, and she leans into that touch she can’t stop dreaming of.

Her eyes flutter as they sway, her body so light in Yang’s hands, her feet gliding over marble like skates, and her gaze never leaves the smile forming on Yang’s lips.


	24. life size ghosts (have come rushing through the cracks)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a [prompt list](https://patchodraws.tumblr.com/post/625006731753373696/amourmemes-%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%8E-%F0%9D%90%93%F0%9D%90%87%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%92%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%96%F0%9D%90%84-%F0%9D%90%8B%F0%9D%90%8E%F0%9D%90%95%F0%9D%90%84) on my Tumblr "I'd pick your thunder, I'd pick your rain, over anyone's sunshine any day." This is absolutely supposed to take place during v6 in their first night in Argus. Thanks to [Defence](https://blake-belladonna-defence-force.tumblr.com/) for helping me with the idea!
> 
> [Song inspo!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x6Chh03Ugk0)

Blake’s ghosts are, among many things, extremely nocturnal. At night, when the world sleeps and the stars twinkle in inky blackness above, they creep from the cracks in her skin and float hauntingly around her, harrowing reminders oh the life she’s lived. Of the problems she’s caused.

Of the people she’s hurt.

Blake curls her arms around her midsection, against the ghosts drifting around her in Argus’ cold, prickling atmosphere. Everyone else is fast asleep, content to rest after the turmoil at Brunswick Farms while she stands outside in the garden, the dry air scratching at her throat after every breath.

Blackness slips between the cracks - dispassionate, miserable, _tired_ \- and she shudders when she feels the wind crawl along her shoulders; her mind slips back to the cellar, how quick she was to drop her weapon and give in to defeat and despair.

She could have killed her friends. She could have killed _Yang_. And of course it wouldn’t have been the first time.

She’ll never forget that shade of crimson, nor the crunching of bone split by steel.

Blake’s arms curl tighter around herself as a rolling storm builds in her mind. She’s worked on these thoughts, she reminds herself. She knows not to let them overtake her or to allow herself to suffer needlessly, but last time she had to deal with them she had Sun and her parents and Ilia and now she’s alone in the cold with the phantoms of the night swirling and swarming and–

“Blake?”

Yang’s voice cuts through the shadow like a blade, a golden lifeline thrown to her that she turns to grab. Yang steps outside onto the deck, her hair up and sleep tugging under her eyes. The sweater Saphron lent her for the evening is tied up at the right sleeve, and Blake has to fight back the ghosts that taunt with her threats and accusations laced in red.

“Are you okay?” Yang asks, stepping forward; the garden lights come on with her movement, their brilliance catching between the gold of her hair. She seems almost divine and celestial, as she approaches, an angel sent by some merciful deity to battle her shadows.

Of course, that’s all in her mind. Yang is tangible, and she’s physical, and when her skin breaks it bleeds just like anyone else. Blake’s been there to see it, and she’ll never forgive herself for allowing it to happen.

“Hey.” Yang is in front of her now, the proximity of her skin like the burning sun, and Blake stops herself from recoiling like she’s just been burned. Yang blinks at her, furrows her brows. “Sorry. I just noticed you weren’t asleep.”

Blake looks at her, her vision blurred by unshed tears. “I just…I just needed a moment.” She wipes at her eyes with the heel of her palm and sniffles. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Yang says with a light huff of laughter; somehow, it’s enough to burn through the first few layers of the maelstrom surrounding her. Her hand finds its way behind her head, burying itself into her hair as she looks at Blake sorrowfully. “You should come inside, get some rest.”

“I’m, uh…I don’t think I can right now, Yang,” Blake stammers quietly, and it’s so hard not to burst into tears at her sincerity.

Yang’s expression shifts and becomes pensive and concerned, the lilac of her eyes boring deeper into the swarm of dark clouds around her. “You’re not going to stay out here, are you? It’s freezing, and you need to sleep.”

Blake’s heart hammers against her chest as she suppresses the urge to cry. Beam after beam after beam of light parts the storm, washing over her in golden rays, illuminating all the ghosts that harrow her, coating her in a warmth she’s sure she hasn’t earned. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, Yang,” Blake rasps, turning on her heel to brush past her. “I can’t be around you.”

She begins to storm off, accepting the clouds coming back to cover her in their darkness and the shadows spilling from her veins and her lungs. Blake belongs to the night, to the darkness, where cold winds draw goosebumps from her skin, where no one else has to see what dark memories surround her and pervade her mind.

Yang is the sun, the day, the refreshing warmth Blake wishes weren’t so painful to long for. She’s golden beauty, she’s kind smiles in quiet moments of weakness and riotous laughter when life is worth living again. She’s everything Blake wishes she could protect. She’s everything Blake wishes she could let herself love guiltlessly.

Crimson washes over gold. Steel splits through bone. Sparks fizzle as the fire dies.

She can’t be around someone she knows she’ll only hurt again.

“Blake, wait!” Yang calls out after her, and her voice is strained as if cracking like pressured glass.

Blake takes a few more steps and sips a few cold breaths before stopping right in front of the door. “Yang, please…”

“We’ve been over this, Blake,” Yang urges as she steps up behind her; Blake’s ear twitches when Yang’s footfalls stop, and she can tell Yang’s standing a few paces behind her to give her space. It’s so considerate, and Blake wishes it were anything but.

Yang exhales heavily. “We’ve been over this,” she repeats. “You don’t have to worry about hurting me.”

“But I do!” Blake turns to face her, fingers carving deeper into her sides as if her ghosts will spill at her fingertips and obscure her. “I worry about you every single gods damned day! About what I’ll do to you!”

“What you’ll do to me?” Yang says incredulously. Blake catches the way red bleeds into her eyes, if only for the briefest of moments before she braces herself against it. “You don’t think this hurts more than anything that’s already been done? You think you being around me will only hurt me more but I’ve already been hurt, Blake! And being with you again…Blake, having you here again _doesn’t_ hurt. You can never hurt me.”

The storm roils just beneath, but another crack of gold appears in the clouds. A single crack, but brilliant and warm all the same. Blake tries to recoil, _wants_ to recoil, but she can’t deny the allure of that shimmering beauty, can’t deny how much she really wishes she could reach for it and let it pull her out.

But she knows the shadows will chase her. Those phantoms swimming in her mind, cursing at her with every shred of evidence she needs to believe the destruction to be wrought in her path.

Blake steps back and averts her gaze. “Do you know how incredible you are, Yang?”

Yang pauses, and when Blake looks back up at her she wears a confused expression. “What?”

“I asked if you know how incredible you are.” When Yang doesn’t answer, Blake continues. “You’re brilliant, and you’re beyond kind. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so selfless in my life. For so long I only ever knew what night was, but you brought sunshine into my life. And it’s overwhelming, and I don’t want to lose it, Yang, but that’s all I ever do. I only ever hurt the people close to me. I’m a storm, Yang, and I don’t want to destroy you again.”

There’s a pause between them, palpable and daunting. Confessions of love are so rarely ever laced with fear and doubt and darkness, but it’s all Blake knows to say right now, and now she waits for the inevitable sting of rejection, of the sun finally going out. She fears the hurt, but it’s for the best. It _has_ to be for the best.

The backyard lights wash over them, illuminating Yang once again, and Blake can see her eyes glisten sadly. Blake only ever hurts people, and she makes sure to remind herself so that the sight in front of her is less heartbreaking.

And then Yang takes a step forward.

And another step.

And she stops in front of Blake, giving her the perfect amount of space to not be overwhelmed by her presence.

“If you say you’re a storm, Blake, then I’m not going to argue.”

Blake’s entire body tenses, readying herself for the impact she’s probably earned.

“But I’ve weathered countless storms,” Yang continues. “I’ve been through it all, and I’m still here, and I will _always_ be here. Maybe you think all you do is hurt people, but I’d pick your thunder any day, Blake. I’d pick your rain, I’d pick your thunder, I’d pick it all over sunshine. So please-” she reaches her hand forward, palm up towards Blake, “-let me be here for you.”

Blake stops and peers down at Yang’s hand. Ghosts dance in her periphery, hissing and cursing as more cracks of gold appear in the clouds around her, and the roiling storm rumbles furiously in its effort to keep her locked away from happiness forever. She pictures crimson washing over gold, and steel splitting flesh and bone, and lonely nights on a beach where the warmth was empty and desperate - that warmth she’s been craving for so long is here, now, offering her freedom, a light against the phantoms of her past. Blake thinks she could never be lost again, bathed in Yang’s brilliance.

Blake reaches up and slots her fingers between Yang’s, curling her fingertips into Yang’s palm. Yang’s grip is firm but gentle, strong but tender, and she clings to Blake like she’s her own lifeline.

“I’ll be here for you, Blake, whatever you need,” Yang promises; unbeknownst to Blake, it’s the first of many they’ll make together, the beginning of the next part of their entwined lives. It’s a promise sealed between careful fingers trembling from a midnight chill, where many more will be sealed between swollen lips, or under fervent touches against searing skin, or even under a blue sky as they both wash the crimson from their lives between choked sobs of relief.

But for now, it’s a promise Blake knows she can keep. It’s one she knows they can keep together.

That night, Blake finds rest under warm blankets, and a promise woven in gold fills the cracks in her skin and keeps her ghosts at bay.


	25. Ursa Major

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wowie, uploading this ficlet I wrote back in 2019 as a prompt bc I had some friends who wanted to read it! It's one of my few forays into WhiteRose territory but hopefully you still enjoy it !!

“Ruby,” Weiss murmurs, “I thought you said I’d like this place.”

Neon light dances in their eyes, flashing across their faces as they approach the doors of Patch’s arcade. The pinging noise of retro games rattles against her ears while the pungent aroma of stale popcorn and strong mustard assaulting her nose. Of course, Ruby had told her to get ready for a fun night out on the town, and she felt like a complete imbecile for believing she could have meant anything else.

Ruby beams beside her, vibrating with exciting. “Are you kidding? This place is the best!”

“Your definition of the word ‘best’ is clearly flawed,” Weiss snarks. 

"You’ll love it, I promise! It’ll be fun!” When Weiss withholds the trademark smirk she reserves for Ruby’s antics, she pouts in futility. 

It takes a solid moment of this for Weiss to finally scoff, roll her eyes, and reluctantly stomp towards the doors of the arcade. “Fine,” she relinquishes as she opens the door for Ruby and immediately regretting it at the wash of smell that soon overtakes her. “But next time, we’re going to _Whisper._ ”

Ruby chirps giddily behind her and escorts her in, and the arcade is exactly how she’d imagined it. Boxy old machines line the walls, flashing screens illuminating the thrilled faces of the several young patrons slamming buttons and lurching joysticks. A tacky carpet—remnant from an age where even then it was considered distasteful—covers the ground, littered with crushed popcorn that Weiss was sure for a moment had just been a strange part of the design.

Her partner is quick to grab her tokens while Weiss studies the room, desperate to find even something remotely familiar.

_Shadow of the Arma Gigas?_

Never heard of it.

_Grimm Fate?_

Nor that one.

_Atlasian?_

They couldn’t even get the word right on that one!

She inhales sharply, immediately regretting it as her nose fills with popcorn smell and leaves behind a thick, persistent sensation. She wrinkles her nose and turns to Ruby, surely ready to plead for her to reconsider, when she notices the way her eyes fall onto the prize area, wide and in disbelief at a large, white bear.

“Ruby?”

“That bear,” she begins, her voice hinting at nostalgia, “has been here for years. I remember me and Yang trying to win it before going to Beacon.” She takes a cautious step towards it as if in the presence of royalty, her breaths careful to not disturb the space around them.

Weiss’ heart lifts; Ruby isn’t often wistful, and seeing her so reverent of something so modest reminds her just how much a small-town girl Ruby still is. She’d given up so much to get to where she is now, she’d had to put aside and sacrifice so much to become the incredible leader, huntress, partner, and girlfriend now standing in front of this dumb bear.

Ruby had changed, but her heart still clings to things she loves, and as her eyes remain fixed forward, Weiss assures herself that a little sacrifice sure does go a long way.

“What does it take to win that stupid bear?” she asks, her soft tone betraying her sharp words.

Ruby snaps from her trance. “Oh, uh, well you have to beat _Ursa Major._ ” She pauses, her grin growing sheepish. “It’s a really hard game. Yang thinks it might even be glitchy or something, cause the last level is impossible!”

Weiss glances around the room again; she’s sure she’d seen it earlier among the other consoles. A quick scan directs her attention to several teenagers gathered around a large brown box, one of them gritting her teeth in concentration as the others cheer around her.

A yellow light flashes in their faces as the tinny sound of a bear roaring resonates from the speakers, and immediately the entire group groans in frustration, the one previously playing throwing herself from the joystick with red creeping on her face.

Weiss’ eyes narrow: an opening. She deftly grabs Ruby by the wrist, prompting a slight yelp of surprise before she guides her towards the now-vacant console. The two stand in front of the game, and Weiss finally gets a good look at what she’s getting herself into.

The vintage screen displays a large wall with what seems like Atlesian knights in position along it; just beyond it, a pixelated Ursa Major reaches towards an orange sky, roaring in a looping animation. Weiss has half a mind to scoff at the inaccuracy of any Ursa existing in Atlesian territory, but she stops herself just short of it. She has a mission.

“How do we play?” she inquires, pre-emptively grabbing one of the two joysticks in front of her and placing several fingers on the buttons.

Ruby giggles. “Well, first we put the tokens in—”

“You dolt, I know we have to do that!”

“Right!” Ruby’s cheeks flush rose as she takes the other joystick in her hand. “Well, it’s a strategy game. You place Atlesian units along a wall to try and stop different kinds of Grimm. If you can’t defeat all the Grimm in the set amount of time then an Ursa Major comes and destroys everything, so next level you have to start all your troops up again.”

“Atlesian units would fare much better against an Ursa Major,” Weiss grumbles, eyeing the large black Grimm as it loops in its animation, as if taunting her and her units. She purses her lips and reaches to place coins in the machine slots while Ruby bounces beside her. “We should be fine.”

“That’s the spirit!” Ruby says with the same naivete that always endears her to Weiss.

Weiss aligns herself with the controls as the screen fades to the first level, accompanied by a cheesy menacing tune. One the left of the screen is the big white wall, and in the centre is a countdown to the start of the level. She clutches the joystick while the pads of her fingers rest gently against several buttons.

She is _absolutely_ going to win this.

* * *

“Wow, I didn’t think anyone could be so bad at _Ursa Major,_ ” Ruby chirps, her fingers laced between Weiss’ as they leave the arcade, the disturbing neon lights shut off for the night.

Weiss rolls her eyes; despite spending numerous hours trying to adjust to this game, they had hardly managed to make it past the first few levels, and of course knowing how many more there were to go they’d decided it would be best to give the arcade a break for the night.

Her grip on Ruby’s hand tightens lightly, and Ruby notices immediately as she turns to meet Weiss’ blue eyes. “Well then we’ll just have to keep practicing, won’t we?”

Ruby offers her an earnest smile and steps closer to her, their shoulders brushing against each others’. “So same time tomorrow night?

Weiss nods, leaning into her partner’s side. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”

She’s going to win her that stupid bear if it takes her years to do it.


End file.
